


Taste of Life I thru IV, A

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-01-15
Updated: 2000-01-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 07:58:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11331660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Tragedy brings two grieving people together......in more ways than one.





	Taste of Life I thru IV, A

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

A Taste of Life by Jvantheterrible

Author: Jvantheterrible  
Title: A Taste of Life  
Date: July 18th-20th, 1999  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Rating: NC-17 - WARNING - SLASH. This is my first attempt at slash. The only way I can do this is to kill off one of my favorite characters, so if you would be offended by that, or the idea of graphic sexual relations between two men (what two do you THINK?), then by all means...FIND SOMETHING ELSE TO READ. Also - in my universe, saliva is Mother Nature's lubricant; I can say no more. (As if I needed to.)  
Spoilers: This would NEVER happen on the show. Totally my own sick little idea. From Skinner's POV, while Mulder and Scully are still under AD Kersh; I've twisted some of the events around from the timeline...we can do that, you know. MAJOR ANGST ALERT, as well.  
Summary: Tragedy brings two grieving people together......in more ways than one.  
Series: A Taste of Life, first part in what MAY become a series.  
Feedback:   or   
Webpage: http://www.angelfire.com/oh3/SkinnerSanctum   
Disclaimer: These characters all belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and InFront Productions, and Fox TV. No money is being made from this, I only borrow these beautiful people to bend them to my every whim. No copyright infringement is intended.  
Author's Note: Yes, this is dark. I can't help it, I've been wanting to do this for awhile, and I just haven't had the guts to do so until now. I know that slash isn't up a lot of your alleys, but I also can't help the fact that, due to extremely talented authors in slash such as Xanthe, Sergeeva, and frogdoggie, I have found myself more than slightly turned on by the idea of Skinner and Mulder hooking up. I haven't had many ideas for stories lately, and I have to go with what is inspiring me at the time. This week, it just happens to be slash. Feedback welcome at , or . This story is dedicated to Xanthe, frogdoggie, and Sergeeva. Special thanks to Amokeh for helping me work up the nerve to do this and beta-ing her little heart out. Speaking of Amokeh, check out OUR site at: www.angelfire.com/oh3/SkinnerSanctum ...it's still under construction, but we're trying!!!

* * *

A Taste of Life  
by Jvantheterrible  
  


I killed Dana Katherine Scully. Not intentionally, mind you; hell, I've given my life for hers on more than one occasion, and I would do it again if I could. This time, there was no one to answer to; no one holding the cards, except for me. No cigarette smoking son of a bitch to shout at, no double agent holding my life in his hands. This time, it was all on me, and oh God if only I could take it back. If only. My heart aches when I think of her smile, her fiery red hair, her ice blue eyes gazing at me across my desk, putting up with yet another reaming, courtesy of Agent Mulder's actions. I can't believe she's gone. I suppose I did love her, in a way; I respected the hell out of her, that's for sure. She was one hell of a woman - smart as a whip, brilliant fucking investigator, doctor, agent...you name it, she was at the top of every list. And beautiful, too. You'd have to be blind not to see that, for God's sake. Christ, it seems like she's been gone for years already, and it's only been a couple of days. I had asked her along on the raid just to get her out of the office for a while; I knew that she and Mulder couldn't stand being on the phones all day, and even though Kersh let me take Scully, he still wouldn't let Mulder out of his grasp. That bastard really has it in for Mulder - I'm sure it has everything to do with the Consortium, and very little to do with Mulder himself. As if feeling guilty about losing Mulder and Scully from the X-Files wasn't bad enough, as if losing them from my command wasn't a punch in the gut already....I took Scully out into the field and did the one thing that Fox William Mulder would never have let happen. I got her killed. No flukemen, no killer bees, no cults, no little green OR gray men. Just a day in the field, a day that happened to be Dana Scully's last.

I stand here now, in the apartment that I refuse to leave, staring into the mirror behind my wet bar at the shell of a man that I've become so quickly. Only three days have passed, and I haven't slept but for fits of tossing and turning that end with me bolting upright, drenched in sweat, screaming myself awake with her name still on my lips. I shake my glass, ice against crystal, wondering if I should fill it up again. Scotch and bourbon are my new friends; they don't really kill the pain, just make it tolerable enough to keep breathing. I won't go back to the office yet, and I haven't really decided if I'm going to go back at all. Fuck the pension, fuck the paycheck, fuck the 401-fucking-K all to hell. I don't believe that anything matters anymore, and I'd be hard pressed to change my opinion on that subject. I don't believe I'm trustworthy any longer; how could I be? It took me years to get Mulder and Scully to trust me despite all the bureaucratic bullshit and conspiracy theories. I finally got them to understand that I was on their side, that I would always be their ally. How ironic that my final payback to Fox Mulder, my final thank you for that trust that I worked so hard to obtain, was to kill the one soul in this whole world that meant a damn thing to him past his quest for 'the truth' - and in so doing, I'm sure I've killed him, too. I wouldn't know, you see, because he threw me out of his apartment that day, and I haven't heard from him since. As far as I know, I'm the only other person that resembles a friend that Fox Mulder has in the FBI...or should I say, I WAS the only other person. I have one hell of a shiner, which looks really nice with the pouches that now reside under both eyes. I pour myself another bourbon, a full glass, and head to my couch. I don't have the energy to climb the stairs, to put myself to bed properly, and even if I could, it's not like I can really sleep. No, instead of sleeping, I will do what I have done for the past three days. I will sit here, staring at the wall, and relive that day over in my head again, wondering if I could've done something differently. It won't bring her back, I know that; people die every day in this world. But people like Dana Scully are few and far between, and if I stop thinking about her, about what happened, it's like letting her go all over again. Oh God, I can't.....I don't want to let her go. Ah, here they are.....tears....I've been waiting for them today. Crying into my goddamned bourbon like a blubbering baby. I'll just close my eyes, and................

Three Days Earlier

I got the call into my office around 9:00 this morning; I'll be goddamned if it didn't sound like Waco revisited. I had to get a team together, and even though it wasn't originally my case, the Bureau wanted me to handle taking the assholes down. It was a smaller compound, out in the middle of fucking Nowheresville, Maryland. A nice easy wrapup, they told me, just assemble your men and bring them in. Weapons were thought to be at a minimum as these were religious nuts, and although they had guards on the roof of their building, no one really assumed that they would be much trouble to an FBI assigned SWAT team. Yeah, well, we all know what happens when we fucking assume, now, don't we? I grabbed my jacket and headed out the door to the Deputy Director's office, where I was briefed and handed the list of agents that would be accompanying me. I scanned the names on the page, nodding in agreement. I don't know why I did, but I asked if I could take Mulder and Scully with me. Shit, they were my best two agents, after all, and I figured they could use the break from fertilizer detail that Kersh had so thoughtfully assigned them to. He told me to take it up with Kersh himself, that he didn't care what I did, as long as I brought the perps in today. I agreed, my work cut out for me, and headed to Kersh's office. He grumbled at me when I suggested that Mulder and Scully assist me and told me that he couldn't spare two agents, I would have to choose one. That was not a difficult choice....Mulder, who would rail on and on about religious cults and the psychology involved in hunting them down and assessing their danger to society, or Scully, who would sit quietly, do her job when we got there, and probably sit quietly all the way home. That decided, Alvin sent me on my way, and I stormed down to the phone room to rescue Scully.

To say that she was surprised to see me would be an understatement. Actually, both she and Mulder looked as though their eyeballs might pop out of their respective skulls.

"To what do we owe this pleasure, sir?" Mulder asked, in his usual snide tone. God help me, I wanted to smack the smirk right off of his face, but I didn't have the time.

"Agent Scully, I've requested your assistance in an operation that I've been assigned to. We will be leaving for Maryland immediately. AD Kersh has been kind enough to lend you out to me for the day." I stood there and watched her gather her things with my typical AD stance in action, hands on my hips, exuding total authority - except, of course, where Fox Mulder was concerned.

"Sir, may I ask you why you aren't taking me along as well? I'm sure I could...." I cut him off in mid-whine.

"Agent Mulder, AD Kersh only allowed me one agent today. He told me that you were entirely too busy with your work, and he could only spare one of you. Agent Scully will be back on duty with you tomorrow." There, that shut him up, although it didn't dissuade him from making a face and giving me a healthy, "Hmph" before going back to his calls. I could feel his gaze burning into my back as I walked out behind Scully, and I didn't need to turn around to know that he was already trying to figure out where we were headed. As much of a pain in the ass as Mulder is, he's a fine agent, and it's a damn waste to have him on the phone, tracking fertilizer purchases and doing background checks on white collar crime wannabes. Unfortunately, that's not my call anymore.

I briefed Agent Scully in the elevator, relaying the facts as I knew them, and bringing her up to speed on what our plan of action was. It was fairly simple, just approach the compound, bring the twenty or so members out as quickly and painlessly as possible, and take them in. End of story. As I had expected, it was a quiet two and a half hour drive. Scully is like me in that she doesn't really need to chatter to feel comfortable; we just took in the scenery as it flew by, and shared a mutual enjoyment of being out of the office for the day. We were in my bureau car, and were going to be meeting up with the rest of the team about a quarter mile from the compound where we would rendezvous and transfer into armored transport. You can never be too careful, I remember thinking to myself; as it turned out, we weren't careful enough.

We reached the team gathering point around 1:00 that afternoon, and after discovering that we were all quite well organized and on the same page as far as operations, we climbed into the three armoured vans that would serve as our taxis. The team consisted of myself, Scully, and about 25 other agents, all of us clad in kevlar vests and FBI logo jackets. Guns drawn and ready for action, we descended upon the compound, a small structure surrounded by a fence with razor tipped barbed wire. It wasn't so much that these people were committing crimes, well, aside from kidnapping, that is. It's just that neighbors tend to get a little nervous when Ma and Pa Kettle decide to cordon off their property with barbed wire and armed guards, and teenagers from the surrounding area decide that it's really neat to stay over at the neighbor's house...indefinitely. With all that in mind, the FBI decided to check into things, and lo and behold, team evacuation became necessary.

There were only about half a dozen guards on the roof. It wasn't like the situation was totally out of control; in fact, things were going along quite nicely. I had my trusty bullhorn, and after informing the perps that we were going to have to take them in, they got a little excited. The team had been deployed, taking their positions around the fence. They were waiting for my signal to go, meaning that they would begin taking the guards out in the less fatal areas of their scrawny little bodies, and we would rush in and take over the compound. Simple as that. After about an hour, it became apparent that they weren't going to come out peacefully. I gave the signal, and all hell broke loose. There was one thing that we hadn't quite counted on that day; one thing that made the difference in who was going to live and who was going to die. I never thought, in all of my training and experience, that these fucking hicks would have access to major ammunition. It wasn't that they necessarily had a lot of ammunition. It was the type that they had -Kevlar piercing bullets. Fucking cop killers. When I raised my arm and closed my fist and pulled it back down, I heard the shots. I was completely on adrenalin, as was everyone else; guns were going off left and right, and we dropped the guys on the roof pretty damn fast. It wasn't until several moments later that I heard, 'agent down, agent down' over the walkie talkie, and I ran behind the compound, where the guys were calling from. Two members of the team were standing next to the agent on the ground; the rest of them having gone inside to bring out the - thankfully - unarmed inhabitants. I ran to where the guys were standing, my heart racing, beating in my throat; I swear to God it felt like I was going to throw it up. I sent the other team members in to assist their peers and took over the grim scene before me.

When I saw who was on the ground, I felt my legs go out from under me and I dropped to my knees next to the gasping agent, her red hair making her face seem even more deathly white. Dana Scully had been shot - not once, but twice in the chest. I ripped her jacket open and pulled the mangled Kevlar vest away from her body in one swift motion. There was so much blood - Jesus Christ - I couldn't believe that she had that much blood in her little body, but there she was. Her mouth was opening and closing but nothing was coming out, and it seemed like I was yelling from really far away, like I wasn't even attached to my body anymore. I was yelling to no one, yelling to Scully to stay with me, even as I saw both of the holes in her chest, even as I assessed that both of her lungs had been punctured, and she couldn't breathe \- oh my God she couldn't breathe. It was a horrid noise, some sort of wet bubbling sound, but not really air, not really a breath. There was blood trickling out of the corner of her mouth and I pressed my hands to her chest, like that might stop the blood flow; like maybe divine intervention would occur and she would be 'healed in the name of the Lord', I thought crazily. But it didn't happen. She gasped and sputtered, just noises, and she looked up at me with her eyes open so wide, so fucking wide, and she was trying to tell me something. FUCK. She just kept bleeding on my hands, and I couldn't stop it, I couldn't make her better. Not this time. No deal with any black lunged bastard was going to fix this.

I kept yelling at her, telling her to stay with me, and she wasn't listening, goddammit, I could tell she wasn't listening and I couldn't keep her attention, her gaze kept going up to the sky, and she almost seemed to smile. Panic. I was panicking. It was not my job to panic. It was my job to keep control, to take care of my agents, and to do so with rock hard resolve. However, there was nowhere in my job description where it said that I had to keep it together if one of my favorite and most respected agents was dying under my command, hell, under my fucking hands. Fuck that. I heard her whisper, and I had to put my ear next to her mouth, and she spat some blood on me as she tried to tell me something, and it was so quiet, oh God, it was so fucking quiet, but I heard her.

"Love....Mulder......love......you.......love......mom," and then she was quiet, and her chest wasn't moving anymore, and I was crying, I was sitting there in the fucking grass next to the place that I had brought her, away from the safety of her desk and her partner, the place where I had brought her to die, and I cried. I heard the sirens from the police backup and the ambulances, and I thought that perhaps if I attempted CPR, that she would come back to me, so I tried it. I was still sniveling, but I did the chest compressions and I pinched her nose, and when I tried to blow the air into her it came out of the holes in her lungs. I fucking heard the air just whoosh right back out of her as fast as I could blow it in, and then more blood came up into her mouth and I stopped, not wanting to make any more of a mess than I already had. Just like that, Dana Katherine Scully was gone.

I might as well have died with her, that's how I felt. I didn't even realize that the rest of the team had finished rounding up the fucking assholes in the compound, didn't know that our mission was completed successfully. Successfully? That thought never entered my mind. It was a total loss as far as I was concerned. Jesus Christ, I had no concept of what was going on. It was as though I had contracted amnesia, I couldn't remember what was supposed to be going on, what I was supposed to be doing. I was in charge? No, that couldn't be right, because Scully was dead, and that would never happen if I were in charge. I didn't speak to anyone. It was a good thing that the other team members had their shit together, because my shit was well and truly gone. They put me in one of the armored vans and left me there, shaking, unable to speak, while they gave all the particulars of the bust and the ensuing chaos to the local authorities. They also managed to arrange to have Dana's body sent back to DC so we could have a proper burial arranged. I was oblivious to what was going on, completely lost in a way I had never been before in my life. I wanted to take Scully's place; I wanted to be the one in the meat wagon, God Jesus Fucking Christ not her. Not Dana Scully.

One of the team members was kind enough to drive me back to DC and drop me off at the JEH building, where the Deputy Director was waiting to speak with me. It was almost 6:00 PM and most of the building was deserted. No one knew about what had happened since most of the agents were from a different branch. Nope, just good old Walter Skinner, leading the cavalry to certain death. Yep, that's me. He told me that he was really sorry about Agent Scully, and that if there was anything he could do, I should let him know. I hadn't really recovered much yet, but I was able to tell him that I needed to take a leave of absence, effective immediately, and I handed him my badge and my gun, and left his office. He stood there with his mouth open, still wanting to tell me what a great job I did under the circumstances, but I never got to hear that part of his speech. I didn't give a shit. As far as I was concerned, the whole thing was a bust, and I wanted nothing more to do with it, no sir, nothing at all.

Now, I know you're thinking, "Walter, this is just SO unlike you. You are a tough guy, a big tough guy, and you can take this, you really can. You shouldn't be such a pussy, this is the really real world and these things happen - it's just part of the job, no matter how awful it is." Well, fuck you if you are thinking that. If you knew Dana Scully like I did, and you also knew that you were going to have to go report the worst fucking news in the entire universe to Fox Mulder, her partner and best friend, you'd be well and truly fucked too. Excuse me, Agent Mulder, Death Patrol calling. Shit.

I had regained enough of my senses to drive myself to Fox Mulder's apartment. I was surprised that he wasn't still at the office, but grateful as well, because that was the last place that I would want to inform him of Dana Scully's....fuck, I don't even want to say it. Okay, her death, I didn't want to tell him that Scully was dead while he was at work. Hell, there isn't any good place or time for that, but all the same, I was just glad that he was at home. I took the elevator up, checking my reflection in the mirrored wall. Haggard was a compliment by this time, my five o'clock shadow making me appear even more distraught and sick than I already was. I was exhausted, emotionally drained, and all I wanted to do was go to sleep and wake up and have this all have been a dream. Life is just not that easy, and it was about to get one hell of a lot harder for me in the next several minutes, I was certain. As it turned out, I was right; Fox Mulder is never one to disappoint and under the circumstances, he was totally justified.

I knocked on his door, trying to figure out just what the fuck I was going to say. I took my glasses off and was rubbing my eyes when he opened the door, and his jaw dropped open in surprise, "Sir, this is....unexpected. Come in," Mulder said, and I followed him through the door, shutting it behind me.

"Agent Mulder, I think that you should have a seat. I have something that I need to tell you." There. That was easy, I thought. I crossed the living room and stood, looking out his window onto the city below, my arms at my sides. Gone was the AD stance of power, gone was my icy stare and the need to hide my feelings. The wall had been broken, and so had I. I turned to face him, and I could already see the concern growing on his face.

"Did you drop Scully off at home already, sir?" Mulder asked, "She usually calls me after she gets home, and I haven't heard from her. Have you been back long? How did the raid go?" He truly had no idea, the poor bastard, no idea that anything was wrong. He had, however, found out what the trip was all about. That's my Mulder, my nosy inquisitive little Fox. I almost busted out laughing hysterically for the second time that day, but figured that under the circumstances, all hysteria would be best saved until after I got home.

"Mulder, I...." He cut me off again, goddammit, he was making this way too difficult.

"Sir, are you feeling alright? You don't look so good," he said, offering me a chair.

I held my hands up, declining his offer to sit, "Mulder, I mean it, I think you should sit down. I have something to tell you. It's bad, Mulder. It's very, very bad, Agent Mulder. Fox. Can I call you Fox?" Oh yeah, I was losing it, and fast.

"No, sir, please don't call me Fox. And what is it, sir?" He looked like he was going to cry already, and I didn't know anymore if I could tell him, my God, I was losing my nerve. Who else was going to tell him, who else would he want to hear the news from, if not from me?

"Agent Mulder, this afternoon, at around 2:30 PM, Agent Scully was gunned down by religious zealots with armor piercing ammunition. She died, Agent Mulder, they shot her and they killed her, and I tried to save her, I swear to God I did, but I couldn't, she was bleeding and I told her to stay with me, I did...." I continued to ramble on and on, unable to make myself stop. Jesus Christ, this thing was going to be the death of me yet, that or the trip to the padded room with my own personal straight-jacket.

"What did you just say?" Mulder said very quietly once I had finished, or reached some semblence of finishing. "Sir, I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you right, sir, could you.....uh....what....." he was obviously having some trouble with the news, so I put it in more simple terms for him. He was shaking his head, and it didn't look as though he really had any control over his body anymore, he was shaking so badly, but his head was still moving in a negatory fashion, as though that was going to stop what I had to say from being true.

"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully died this afternoon. She sustained two gunshot wounds to the chest, each piercing a lung, and she died. She died, she died, she died, Mulder, Scully is dead." There. That should do it. I didn't even realize that I was crying until I felt the moisture on my dry lips and licked them, tasting salt. God, I was parched, but I hadn't thought of anything like that. No food, no water. Nothing, except what I had to do, and now it was done and I really wanted to go home.

Mulder stood in front of me and he was doing the same thing that Scully had done that afternoon with her mouth, it was opening and closing but nothing was coming out. He looked like a fish out of water and for some reason that thought made me snap. I clamped my hands over my mouth, trying to keep the hysterical sounds out, but they came out anyway - in a rush. I laughed and screamed and sobbed into my hands, and Mulder just stood there, his mouth opening and closing, looking like he was going into convulsions. He more or less fell to the floor, landing directly on his ass, and several moments later I managed to stop the strange howling that I was doing, remove my hands from my mouth and squat down to see if he was alright. Mulder was most definitely not alright. His face was ashen and he looked how I felt. He was still shaking his head back and forth, and he reached out and grabbed my shoulders, pulling me towards his face and whispered, "what.....how......you......" and that's all he said, but he still clutched my shoulders and I reached out and grabbed him, shook him, trying to bring him back to me.

"Mulder, she's gone, Mulder. Come on, Mulder, stay with me, here." I kept talking to him in a low voice - it was like he was momentarily out of his body and all of a sudden he came back to me. With a fucking vengeance. He shoved me violently away from him, knocking me backwards and then he jumped on top of me, straddling me, effectively pinning me to the floor. He looked at me then, straight in the eyes, and the man that was presently on top of me bore no resemblance to the man that I had known for the past six years. His face was a mask of rage and I was his target. Jesus Christ, like I needed this now. I had no choice but to take it, and take it I did. Lying down, but I took it.

"YOU KILLED HER, YOU SON OF A BITCH. I TRUSTED YOU, SKINNER, I FUCKING TRUSTED YOU, AND YOU TOOK HER AWAY AND YOU KILLED HER! I TOLD HER NOT TO TRUST YOU, YOU FUCKING BASTARD, YOU KILLED SCULLY!" I took it all, everything he had to give, spitting in my face and all. He pounded on me with his fists, and I took it. He punched me in the face, splitting my lip open, nearly breaking my nose, giving me a black eye that rivaled what I would've gotten in the boxing ring, and I took it. After what seemed like an eternity, he tired and slumped down on top of me, resting his head on my now bruised and sore chest, and he sobbed. I didn't know what else to do, so I wrapped my arms around him and I held him. I lay there, on his living room floor battered and bleeding from his grievous assault, and I held him in my arms, trying to give him comfort when I was so far beyond it myself.

It's odd, you see, because for a while there I actually felt as though I was back in control. I was lying there, with Mulder in my arms, comforting him, and I was 'Walter the Rock' again. What else could I do? Was I supposed to leave him there, to just deal with it all on his own? I couldn't. As much as I wanted to, I just couldn't desert him like that. So I stayed there for what seemed like hours (and had been), I stayed there and let Fox Mulder cry in my arms. I cried with him for a long time, sharing in his harsh breathing and sobs and then, after a while, I was completely drained and it was all I could do to keep my arms around him. But I did, and he just didn't stop crying. It was almost as though Mulder had lost everything; I imagine he felt that way -I know I did. It ripped my fucking heart out to feel his chest hitching against mine, to feel his breath coming in little hiccups, to feel his tears soaking through my shirt. It also did something else to me. Something that I was not ever going to admit to, and something that I had abso-fucking-lutely no business feeling now, or ever, for the weeping agent in my arms. I closed my eyes, and the next thing I knew, sleep had mercifully taken over. That would be the only time in the last three days that I really slept, and strangely enough, the only time I felt truly alive as well.

I woke up feeling like there was a concrete shelf on my chest, and when I felt hair grazing my chin, I realized that I had spent the night on Mulder's floor, and he was.....still.....in......my........arms. Fuck. Oh fuck. Scully was dead, and I had spent the night with Mulder. It was really comforting to know that all of the really fucked up things that were going on in my life were all happening at once, and I would have a valid temporary insanity plea ready and waiting. As I carefully tried to remove myself from Fox Mulder, he stirred. His head popped up first, then he caught my eyes with his own and he realized what had happened. He didn't move, though. He continued to gaze into my eyes, and for a moment I swore he was going to smile, but he didn't. I didn't know what the fuck was going on, but I really really really wanted to go home now, the pinnacle of weirdness had just been reached, and I, Walter Sergei Skinner, had had enough. Mulder finally pulled himself off of me, but not before he ground his morning wood against mine. Mother Nature has never been one to be merciful, and that morning was obviously no exception. Mulder held my gaze as he lifted himself off of me, and I sat up, attempting to straighten my more than slightly dissheveled clothing.

"Get out," Mulder growled, and went into his room, slamming his door. I decided that it would be wise for me to do just that before he came out with his gun and decided to make things even for Scully. I got down to my car, snatched the parking ticket off of my windshield with a formidable growl, and drove home. Strangely enough, on the forty-five minute drive home I found myself caught between two different trains of thought. First, there was the obvious - Scully. I was still so out of sorts over the whole situation, I couldn't really accept what had happened. Secondly, there was Mulder. Why was it that Mulder had slept in my arms all night? I mean, sure, he was upset and needed comforting, and that was easy enough to figure out. But what about that look when he had woken up? What was that all about? And why had it given me a shiver....I shoved that thought down as I drove into my parking garage, reducing it to a simple case of grief and comfort. It got easier to shove all of my thoughts down once I got into my apartment and poured myself a drink. I needed it so bad I could taste it in the elevator, before I even got in my door. It didn't even occur to me that it was only seven in the morning. I didn't have any concept of time at the moment, and didn't give a shit anyway. I didn't have to go to work, I didn't have to make any calls, and I certainly wasn't going anywhere. Cheers.

Now, I'm not an alcoholic by nature. Never have been, most likely never will be. I usually don't medicate myself with drink, but this was a very special situation. One of my two favorite agents was dead, while under my command no less, and her partner, my other favorite agent, was a basket case. Yes, it had been one hell of a day. And that was how it all went down three days ago. And here I am, bourbon in hand, three days later, too ashamed to go to her funeral, which is tomorrow. She's dead because of me. I don't know how I'd face her mother, I mean, shit, she doesn't even know that Dana's last words were 'love mom'. I can't do it, I've already ruined Mulder and myself over this and undoubtedly Mrs. Scully, who has now lost both of her daughters to the FBI's not-so-official business. I know, I'm a selfish bastard that I wouldn't go and pay my respects, but shit; I watched her die, isn't that enough? Doesn't that atone for something? Fuck, now I'm sitting here talking to myself. I have no idea what's worse. Yes, I do. Being a selfish bastard is worse. I drag my tired body upstairs and get my best black suit ready for tomorrow.

Surprise surprise, couldn't sleep. I was doing something pretty close to it when I woke up screaming for Scully and I've given up all hope of resting myself for the service later this morning. I feel like my head weighs about a thousand pounds as I climb the stairs to shower and shave off my newly grown beard. Never have liked myself with facial hair all that much and neither has anyone else. The hot shower did wonders for my hangover and my aching body, no thanks to Fox Mulder for that one. As I stand over the sink shaving, the phone rings and I nearly take off my lower lip - I wasn't even sure the damn thing still worked. More shocking than that revelation is the one waiting on the other end of the line when I finally find my voice and growl a curt 'hello'.

"Are you going to the service, sir?" Mulder asked in a voice more timid than I think I've ever heard him speak in my life.

"Yes, Agent Mulder, I had planned on it. Is there a problem?" I'm staring at myself in the mirror as I listen to him, wondering how long it's taken him to get the nerve up to call me. Scratch that - I guess it's been about three days.

"Um, no sir, no problem. I was just wondering if you'd mind if.....well....I don't want to go alone." Dead silence after this last statement. Jesus Christ - what in the hell am I supposed to do now? Well Walter, I think to myself as I stare at my lather covered face pondering the question, drive the man to the funeral. Hell you DID kill his partner, no matter how inadvertently.......

"I.....Agent Mulder......I'll be there in an hour." I hang up on him and continue to stare at my reflection as I finish shaving. When I'm done, I notice that I have lost several pounds - probably due to the fact that my meals have been mostly liquid for the past few days - my face looks rather sunken in. Add to that the still bruised eye, the pouches and puffiness, and my wirerims to magnify it all. Absolutely fucking beautiful. I slam my fist into the mirror - not one of the wisest moves I've ever made, but I do manage to shatter my image into hundreds of pieces and I feel marginally better. Wish I could say the same for my right hand; I cleaned the glass out of my knuckles and bandaged it up, got myself dressed, and headed for Mulder's.

As I drive up, he's waiting for me in front of his building. No smile of recognition or anything, he just gets in and shuts the door after he's seated. We head for the cemetery, neither of us uttering a sound. I must say that he looks rather handsome, all properly dressed and for once with an ironed shirt. I put that thought out of my mind, wondering what in the hell is going on with my brain lately; the only thing I can figure is that the stress of the whole incident is causing me to look at Mulder differently now, because he is all I have left of my star team. I feel protective of him and I want nothing more than to take away his pain, which appears most evident today than perhaps any other time I have ever seen him upset. This does nothing to ease my nerves; in fact, I feel more uncomfortable than I ever have in my life. Where is the Walter Skinner that I myself know so well from rumor and innuendo, the rock solid AD that everyone feels can hold the world on his shoulders? I think he may have died in that field three days ago, right along with Dana Katherine Scully.

The funeral is beautiful - lots of flowers, music, and prayers. Of course the FBI's higher ups are all in attendance, paying their so-called respects, half of them to an agent that they were not fortunate enough to know personally. Still, there is FBI protocol to be followed and when an agent goes down, especially one with a record as exemplary as Agent Scully's, they all take notice. Bastards. Mrs. Scully comes up to me and gives me a hug, assuring me that she doesn't blame me for her daughter's death, comforting me when I should have be the one doing that for her. I tell her that Dana's last words were 'love mom', and she bites her lower lip. She must see it on my face; Jesus Christ, I don't know how anyone could think that I don't blame myself. She also hugs Mulder, and they share tears for several moments before Bill Scully steers her away from us, finally content that the FBI is disassociated at last from his family - what's left of it.

I look to Mulder, and he looks at me, and we just nod at one another in silent agreement that we are ready to leave this place. We get in my car and just sit there, watching FBI big-wigs and friends and family of Dana Scully's wander by. I have no idea what to say to Fox Mulder and yes, there is a first time for everything - it's a huge first for me. I take my wirerims off and close my eyes, rubbing my face with my hands, waiting for him to say something, ANYthing at all. Finally he rewards me, after what seems like a fucking eternity; I nearly jump when he speaks.

"Sir?" His voice is choked with emotion, and I'm not sure that I can even look at him. I decide that it would only be polite to grace him with a response, so I turn to him. It breaks my fucking heart to see the look on his face. He is devastated. Completely.

"Agent Mulder?" I waited. It takes him several moments to gather his thoughts, and I can't say that I blame him for that.

"Skinner, I really......I don't.......I mean......I don't want to go home just yet." He looks down at his hands, and I have to bite my tongue to keep my tears in check. I had actually done really well with the whole emotion thing during the service. I kept my face as stony as I could, never mind the fact that I was biting my tongue so hard that I tasted the blood for most of the time I stood there.

"Where do you want to go, Mulder?" I ask him because I don't really know what he's getting at - does he want to go get drunk? I am totally up for that - OH yeah.

"I don't really give a shit, sir. I just don't want to go home." He looks over at me again, and I just stare at him. I think I might have scared him, because he starts to say something else but I cut him off.

"I have a fully stocked bar at my place." There, I said it. No rinky-dink bars playing shitty music that will only make us feel worse. I figure that my place will be best; we can drink for the rest of the fucking day and not have to worry about anything. Did I actually just invite Agent Fox Mulder over to my house? Shit. I did.

"That would be.....fine...sir." He looks back out the window, back towards where Scully's service had been. I put my glasses back on and start the car. His gaze never leaves Scully's direction as we drive out of the cemetery gates. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, tears silently rolling down his cheeks. My own tears start shortly thereafter and last pretty much until we get to Crystal City. I let them fall for a change.

I find myself at somewhat of a loss once we get back to my apartment; I'm not used to having company. Hell, the few times Mulder HAS stopped by, it's always been out of distrust or needing something. He may need me now, but I need him just as much. I can't believe I am admitting this, but it's fucking true. I am tired of being alone and with everything that has happened, I need a friend. I need Mulder. I think he needs me, too. Jesus Christ, I sound like a complete sap. So be it. I ask him if I can fix him a drink; he is sitting on my sofa looking more lost than ever, poor bastard. He just nods, so I fix him a bourbon - no ice. Me too. I walk over and hand it to him; he takes it, downing it in one gulp. I look at him, and then do the same; one gulp. I take his glass and fix us both another. This time, I add the ice; it's going to be a long afternoon and there's no need to be in any hurry.

It seems like hours have passed before either of us speaks. Mulder breaks the silence, "I really loved her, Skinner. I really really loved that woman." Oh God, here we go.

"Agent Mulder, I understand, but......." but what? Where am I going to go with that? Jesus Christ, he's looking at me now, wondering what in the hell I was going to say and I don't even know myself. God, if only I could just.......what am I thinking? I want to put my arms around him and make him feel all better? Yeah, Walter, that's a fine idea. Jesus.

"Sir?" He's sitting at the opposite end of the sofa from me, just looking at me with that wide-eyed innocence that only he can pull off. Shit.

"Nothing, Agent Mulder. Forget it." There. That should stop him from cocking his head at me.

"Sir, I....the other night.....um......" oh God, here it comes. Don't let him say anything about it. Please let him forget his train of thought...maybe if I pour him another drink really quickly he'll stop. Now, before it gets any worse. I get up, and he stops me dead in my tracks with his next question.

"I'm sorry, sir, but.........I need a hug. I know it sounds childish, and really quite unlike me, but I really.....need......a friend. I need you, sir. Please." Oh God, he's crying again. I don't know what to do. Yes, I do. I put my glass on the coffee table and I go and sit next to him on the sofa. I put an arm around his shoulder and he leans against me and sobs like a child who has just fallen off his bike. I don't know how much more I can take, without giving into the emotion myself. I try to maintain the stoic AD attitude. I am doing just fine until he begins to sob his words; words that I cannot ignore any more than if I spoke them myself.

"God, Skinner, I just don't fucking understand. Why? Why....Scully...." his breath is hitching, and I pull him closer to me, trying to absorb his grief. I want to take it all on, and oh God, if only I could. I share his loss, but I can't share the magnitude of their relationship. They were closer than any two people could ever be, and not even in a sexual way; at least I don't think so. Jesus, what does THAT have to do with anything? Walter, you need help.

"Mulder, please," is all I can manage, and he pulls back from me and looks at me, his hazel eyes so dark and foreboding.....God, I'm lost looking into them already...what am I thinking? His bottom lip is quivering......oh Jesus....I just want to touch his face...touch that lip and make it stop pouting.....I reach for his face, and he closes his eyes in anticipation. I cup his face in my hand, and........my thumb finds its way delicately to his lower lip and holds it in place. He sighs, a deep shuddering sigh and I forget everything that I am..........I want to comfort him, to give him back just a little of what I've inadvertently taken from him........... he uses his lips and teeth to draw my thumb into his mouth and runs his tongue gently around and around my calloused flesh.

For several moments, I am entirely lost. His mouth around my thumb is an immediate pathway to my cock for some reason; my trousers become progressively tighter, and I wonder if I have well and truly lost my mind. Walter, this is a fucking federal agent...one that you have respected and tried to mold into your form for the past six years.......God........I'm realizing....I really DO want to mold him to my form.......NO.....that can't be right. But it is and I know it; deep down I know it and I haven't felt it in over 20 years, not since 'Nam, but now.....FUCK...............

He removes his lips from my thumb and looks at me, that lost look replaced with something that I can only assume is desire, judging from his half-open eyes and not-so-pouty (anymore) mouth. He is licking his lips and I am squirming in my seat, trying to figure out exactly what it is that he wants from me. I know what it is and I can't believe that he is feeling it too. I didn't realize that there was any way on earth it could ever happen again, especially not now - not with him - not after all these years and especially not after all that has happened these past few days. Goddammit, leave it to Fox William Mulder.

I don't say anything to him, merely look at him, wondering what his next move will be and hoping that it will be exactly what I am dreaming that it will be. It is. He leans toward me, his full lips protruding just slightly, and I know that my life is going to take a massive turn; I'm still not certain in which direction, and at this moment, I could decidedly care less. Our lips meet, and it is instant fire. Sweltering heat, melting me to my very core, and I can sense it is the same for him. Our limbs are suddenly intertwined, tangled more hopelessly than the most wicked brambles in all the rose gardens of Hell - or Heaven, I'm just not sure which, and I don't care anymore.

I can feel his tongue battling with my lips, and I succumb to his relentless pursuit after many minutes of warring, giving him the prize that he so deservedly seeks. My cock is begging for contact with him, and I put that thought on hold briefly as I try to concentrate on just his lips and mouth and tongue....giving back everything that he is trying to take from me with a vengeance, meeting him stroke for stroke. It is delicious, and I can no longer deny that this is what I need...what I want.....now and forever, as though that were possible. Perhaps it is.........I no longer know, nor do I care. I only know and desire Fox Mulder, and he is what I intend to have -even if it is only for this moment. I will take everything he has and more, and I will return it with everything that is left in my ragged, tired soul.

His arms wrap around my neck and pull me closer; he is desperate for contact and feeling just as I am. We are lost in the vortex of death and we both desire to be rescued, perhaps we will be able to save one another from its inevitable grasp, even if only for this coupling. I take his tongue deep into my mouth and show him that I am not afraid of him and I am not about to shy away from the idea of becoming closer. I press him into my white leather sofa as my body covers his and I can feel him moan his surrender into my mouth, physically as well as spiritually. He is mine, and I am his. I want nothing more at this moment than all of him, and he has no choice but to give himself to me. This is what we both want, both need. I grind my erection into his, reveling in the feel of hardness against hardness, life against life. It is.......liberating.

He thrusts his hips up into mine and I groan into his mouth. I remove my lips from his and kiss his throat as my cock grinds against his - we both silently agree that the material between us is an unwanted barrier. I reach down and undo my fly, releasing my prick from its unintended prison. I gasp against him as I feel his hands doing the same, freeing himself at almost the same time. Suddenly, I feel hot flesh against hot flesh, and we moan each other's names; names that before now, we would never dare to speak aloud. "Walterrrrrr....." he gasps, as I am still lost in the utterance of, "Foxxxxxxx............."

We twitch in mutual appreciation, then realize that it is quite necessary for us both to divest ourselves of the rest of our clothing.....as well as our inhibitions. I stand quickly and fervently remove my clothing, watching him predatorily as he removes his own. After we are both naked, he opens his arms to me and I once again crush him into my sofa. This time, however, we are hot skin against hot skin and it is almost too much for us both to bear. He wraps his legs around mine and I feel his cock pressing against my own, begging for sweet release. We thrust into one another, cock against cock, and it is almost painfully apparent that one of us must take the road to dominance. It is my place, as it has been in all other aspects of our until now professional relationship. He knows this as well as I do, perhaps better, and waits for me to assert myself. Under the circumstances, it takes me little time to realize what I must do; it is the same position that has always been expected of me, and I hardly intend to disappoint the beautiful man writhing almost desperately beneath me now.

He removes his legs from around me and I waste no time in sticking my index and middle fingers into my mouth, wetting them as he gasps beneath me. He senses what is coming and closes his eyes in anticipation. I probe the cleft of his ass with my fingers and then plunge them inside him. He gasps at the penetration, pain and pleasure crossing his face all at once. I enjoy the helpless state that he appears to be in and it arouses me even further, my cock straining against his washboard stomach, aching for release.

He hisses a prolonged "yessssss" at me as I thrust my fingers in and out of him, gently at first, then more quickly as my desire increases. Hearing his voice only spurs me on, and his legs thrum with increased lust....I can't hold back much longer now. My sole mission is to prepare him for my throbbing cock, hoping that I can ready him before I shoot all over us both.

"Christ, Mulderrrrrr....." I growl. He pulls away from my hand and arranges himself in front of my dick, his lips reaching for me even as I am still trying to convince myself that all of this is really happening. He encircles me with his sensual mouth, and I groan his name again, this time unintelligible to even my own ears. All I can feel is his tongue on my cock, circling and licking, caressing and silently begging, and once again I am deliciously lost in his touch. I wait for my senses to come back to me, and when they do, I am harder than I can ever remember being in my life. My pre-cum is dripping down my pulsating erection and I know that if I wait much longer, I will waste my load all over his stomach. I don't want that....I want to share this moment completely and totally with him. He deserves this, goddammit, and so do I. We both deserve to feel alive; I think it's been longer than just these three days since either of us have felt that way. Alive. Jesus Christ, I feel it now. I want him to feel it too.

I push Mulder off of me and back down into the sofa and he looks up at me, lost and found all at once, begging silently to feel my touch. I lever myself up on one arm and raise three fingers to my mouth, but change my mind and offer them to him instead. Without hesitation he starts to lick them, tasting the combined salt of our bodies. He sucks them completely into his mouth, coating them liberally with his own saliva to ease their entry into his eager body. Once properly lubed, he gives them a final flick with his tongue and looks up into my eyes. I see tears glistening in his eyes and his body undulates against me as my fingers invade him once again. He shudders before submitting completely to my touch, allowing the tight muscles in his ass to relax and accept me fully. I am so hard that it hurts and I can wait no longer. As if he is reading my mind, Mulder leans forward and silently begs me to withdraw my fingers. We are beyond words now, and I'm glad....I wouldn't know what to say if I had the chance. He squirms like a snake beneath me, moves down and engulfs me with his lips again. I cry his name aloud, and I'm not sure if he has even heard me. It doesn't matter...he is lubricating me and when he finally releases my cock I know that we're ready. Oh my God what are we doing....I don't care...it's what I want, what I need...what we both need right now - right this minute. The time for wondering is over.

I gasp to him,"are you sure...." and he replies,"yes.....God, now......." and that is all I need. He moves back up so that he is under me once again, drapes his legs over my shoulders, and I drive into him fully, his own saliva acting as our lubricant. He cries out as I enter him, then bucks back against me as I press into him. My balls rest against his ass, and he cries out my name, "Walterrrrrr...." as I pull slowly out and push back into him once again. I stay inside of him, buried to the hilt, enjoying the feel of his tightness around my cock. We both moan in unison then, our names becoming lost in the lust and thrusts that our bodies demand of us. I lean down as far as I can and manage to kiss him....we begin the war of our tongues once again as my cock slides in and out of him, him panting beneath me, me practically sobbing at the feel of being inside of him. His muscles fight against me, but it only spurs me on. We kiss as I thrust in and out, and he cries out, his cock straining for relief of its own. I realize this and wrap my hand around his dick, even while I thrust into him and kiss him, claiming him with my tongue and my fist and my cock simultaneously. I grasp his erection and thrust my hand up and down, up and down his shaft as I thrust in and out of his ass.

He cries out, giving in to his ecstasy as he finally spurts up and over my grip, his semen coming to settle on my hand, his stomach and both of our chests, even as I continue to pump mercilessly in and out of him, driving myself to climax. I feel myself explode into him, and I loudly grunt something that resembles his name. As I twitch and deflate inside of him, we kiss; he quivers at my touch, his spent cock finally going limp in my hand. He manages to remove his legs from my shoulders, stretching them out beneath me as I relax myself and rest heavily on top of him, essentially burying him in my soft (and now damp) sofa. He doesn't seem to care; his breathing is still very fast, and his eyes are closed. I wonder if it's because he doesn't want to look at me, doesn't want to face what has just happened. Christ, Walter, can we give the fucking uncertainty a little bit of a reprieve now? I rest my head in the crook of his neck and wait for his breathing, as well as my own, to even out.

Some moments later, I feel his arms wrap around me. We are naked on my couch, bathed in one another's sweat and fluids, and Fox Mulder has his arms around me. I suppose that should answer my question, but it doesn't. I lift my head and look at his face; his breath is coming deep and slow now - goddammit, he's asleep! Fucking figures. He looks like some sort of fallen angel, I think. Innocent and guilty, stressed but relaxed all at the same time. I shake my head and smile slightly, removing myself gently from his light grasp. I grab my trenchcoat and cover him up with it so he doesn't freeze while he dozes. Mulder rolls over onto his side and I don't have the heart to wake him; hell, if I DID wake him, what would I say? I don't know. It's easier for now to just let him rest. He needs it. So do I. I go upstairs and take a quick shower, then climb into my bed. I lay there for a while thinking about my life, about all of the things that have happened in the past several days. I have no idea what will happen, but I don't feel quite so grim, quite so.........dead. I feel alive, and I like the feeling. I am exhausted from everything.......the grief, the anger, the fucking guilt......oh, I suppose the sex had a bit to do with it, too.......and I think I fall asleep with a slight smile playing across my lips, despite the dark cloud that still hangs over my head.

At some point during the night, I hear a sound in my room. The shower runs for a couple of minutes, and then shuts off. The covers are pulled back for a moment, and he climbs into bed beside me, replacing the sheets and comforter over both of us. He moves close to me, his warm naked back against mine, and I hear him sigh deeply. I know how he feels, and I wonder if either of us will ever be able to talk about it. We have a lot to talk about, Fox Mulder and I. For now, though, I roll over and spoon up against him, wrap my arms around him and pull him closer to me. We fit together nicely - in many ways. I dream that he's still here in the morning...........  
  
  


THE END?

 

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A Taste of Life II - The Day After  
Author: Jvantheterrible  
Date: January 20th, 2000  
Rating: NC-17, for graphic M/M sexual relations  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Status: Complete  
Series: Taste of Life #2  
Summary: Scully has been killed in the line of duty, and Mulder and Skinner are left to try and piece themselves back together. Continuation of "A Taste of Life". Angst, angst, and angst.  
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. The story is. No money is being made from the existence or posting of this story. Thanks to Chris Carter and entourage for bringing us The X-Files.  
Author's Notes: It's taken me a while to decide whether or not to continue this story, as it is dark. I do find, however, that in my attempt to write from Skinner's POV, I undoubtedly resort to angst and emotional discord. If you don't like the idea of Skinner and Mulder being together, please read elsewhere. If you liked the first part or haven't read it yet, please surf on over to my site (OR Walter Torture, OR 'Down in the Basement') at www.angelfire.com/oh3/SkinnerSanctum  to read Part 1.  
Thanks to Amokeh for excellent beta-ing and encouragement, as always, and to all the other authors out there who will keep the X-Files (or at least its characters) alive long after Chris Carter has finished with them.  
Feedback: Appreciated at   OR 

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I find myself apprehensive about opening my eyes. We buried Scully yesterday. I never thought I'd hear myself say those words. We. Buried. Scully. Dear God, what was I thinking, taking her out into the field and away from the safety of her partner? Of course, that's a question that I'll ask myself for the rest of my days now. I know the answer, too. I was trying to make a difference; trying to show my good intentions at getting them both back out in the field, and eventually back on the X-Files. Yes, Walter, what a noble act you carried out, 'eh? You took Scully out into the field for the first time in weeks, and you got her killed. I know I can and never will forgive myself but the big question now is, will Mulder forgive me? Fox Mulder. Last night we became lovers and now I'm afraid to open my eyes for fear that he, too, has left me. I don't want to be alone. Not now. Hell, I've never wanted to be alone; who does? I don't think I could bear it if he's not here. What choice do I have BUT to accept it if he's gone?

The hell with it. It won't do me any good to lie here and wonder if he's still next to me. I open my eyes and look up at the ceiling, blinking a few times to clear the initial blurriness and bleariness that is my morning vision. I look over, and there he is. Whoa. There he is indeed. He's wrapped up in the sheets and blanket up to his waist, his smooth and nearly hairless chest slowly rising and falling with his deep sleeping breaths. He looks so untroubled in sleep, like nothing bad has happened. There are no worry lines in his forehead, no crows feet at the corners of his eyes. He looks peaceful. I lever myself carefully up on one elbow so I can watch the enigma that is Fox Mulder as he sleeps, and I begin to think that maybe, just maybe, things will work out alright. Premature of me, I know, but how can I help thinking that while this beautiful man slumbers at my side? He stirs slightly, and I find myself holding my breath for fear of waking him. He needs his rest, and I will not be the one to deprive him of THAT much. I watch him until he finally wakes up, about half an hour later.

His eyes flutter against the daylight struggling to come in through the blinds in my bedroom, and he looks around as if in a daze. I wonder if he even remembers last night. My question is answered, but not exactly in the way that I was hoping.

"Good morning, sir," Mulder mumbles, pulling the covers up over his chest a little, refusing to meet my eyes directly. This is not a good sign as far as I'm concerned.

"Good morning, Mulder. Did you sleep well?" I wish he wouldn't call me sir while we're in bed together. Of course, it's not like there is any precedent for this.

"Um, yeah I did. Thanks." He's looking around at my room, not wanting to look directly at me, and that's what I was afraid of most. He catches me watching him, and he blushes slightly. Christ, this is not how I had envisioned things. I don't know what I expected, but Mulder playing the proverbial blushing bride was the last thing on my mind. I break the uncomfortable silence with the only thing I can think of, "Would you like some coffee?"

He looks up at me shyly and nods his head, and I proceed to toss the covers off myself and get out of bed. I can see him staring at me out of the corner of my eye, and his eyes widen when he realizes that yes, we are both naked, and yes, we did sleep together. I try not to let my disappointment show on my face, busying myself instead with finding something to put on. I find us both sweats and tee shirts, and I toss his on the bed. "You can join me downstairs after you get dressed." My voice is rough; partly from sleep, but mostly because I can't hide all my emotions at once. He's obviously embarassed, and it kills me inside. I can feel the knife twisting just a little bit more. I should never have brought him here, but hindsight is always 20/20 and it's a little too late for that now. Literally and figuratively, I've made my bed, and now I get to lie in it. Fuck.

I head downstairs, pulling on my wirerims so I can see where I'm going and what I'm doing. What I'm doing is prolonging the inevitable; trying to stall what is almost surely going to be the end of Fox Mulder's and my relationship, business or otherwise. I'm not ready to lose him just yet, thank you very much. So, coffee it is. I hear him pad into the kitchen about ten minutes later, and the coffee is almost finished brewing as I turn to greet him with as close to a smile as I can get; I imagine it looks more like a smirk at this point, but how can I smile at him when he's so clearly ashamed of what happened between us last night? Is he? I am going to have my nervous breakdown now, I can just feel it. I'm teetering on the brink of sanity with a horrible feeling that I'm about to be flung over the edge any moment now.

"Coffee smells good, sir," he says, attempting to smile back at me. It looks to me like his lips are stuck on his teeth. He's trying, though; I give him credit for that much at least.

"Mulder, you don't need to call me sir in my home. Walter is fine." He's blushing again, and I could just kick myself. I can only imagine that he's going to be even more uneasy now because it probably felt more normal calling me 'sir'. He's never called me Walter. Not ever. Of course, we've never slept together before, and then there's the whole issue that Scully's never been dead before, either. Oh sweet Jesus just let me get through the next twenty minutes without screaming and I'll be fine, I swear.

"Um, okay, Walter," Mulder says, pulling out a chair and sitting at my kitchen table while I pour us each a mug of coffee, "but I still want you to call me Mulder, okay?" I nearly drop the coffee pot, catching it in time but not before spilling a liberal amount of java across the marble countertop. I look back at him and he's smiling slightly, more in his eyes than anywhere else. I wonder if perhaps I was mistaken about his feelings towards me and this entire situation. I wouldn't know how he feels, because we didn't do a hell of a lot of talking last night, and I've been way too wrapped up in my own mind this morning to bother asking him. Perhaps now would be a good time.

"Mulder, do you - " he cuts me off in mid-sentence. Whew. That was easy.

"No, I like it black, thanks." Dammit. He just continues to watch me as I head towards the table with two cups of coffee, meeting his gaze, wondering what is going to happen next. I suddenly realize that I can hardly wait to find out. I'm looking forward to this, even if it just turns out to be coffee with Mulder and nothing more. Okay, that's not true. I do want more. A lot more. I have to ask him. I'm going to go nuts waiting. I think he knows it, too. Maybe he's just waiting me out. Maybe he's just using that psychoanalytic brain of his to deconstruct me and fuck with me a little bit before he kills me off mentally and/or emotionally, perhaps even physically. Good God Walter, get a fucking grip here.

I slide a mug over to him, and pull out a chair to sit facing him. We both look down at our coffee for several moments, both of us unsure as to what to say in one of those typical "morning after" moments. Well, typical for someone, anyway. Not me. Not Mulder either, I'm pretty sure. But if we were to have one of those moments, I think it would be just like this. Christ, I'm rambling in my own head; can't wait to start trying to verbalize. Luckily, I don't have to start. Mulder does it for me.

"Walter, I just wanted to thank you for everything you did yesterday. I mean, taking me to the service with you, and taking care of me afterwards. That really was above and beyond the call of duty. I didn't expect you to, you know," he stops and takes a sip of his coffee, allowing me to attempt to finish his sentence. Which I do. Miserably.

"Fuck you?" I ask him pointedly, straight-faced as always. He spits liquid across the table at my words, and his eyes begin to water. He's not happy, and I can't say that I blame him. My self-pity has reared up and bitten me on my own ass. Goddammit, this is going about as well as my talks with Sharon used to go. Worse, if that's in any way possible.

He just looks at me for a moment as he wipes the coffee off of his chin with the back of his hand; he looks like I just slapped him across the face. I feel like I did slap him, and I suddenly want to jump up and run to him and take him in my arms and tell him how sorry I am, that I didn't mean to say it, I never meant it like that. Too late; the damage is done.

A single tear falls from each of his eyes and he speaks again, "I was going to say that I didn't expect my feelings towards you to be returned, but yeah, I am surprised about that, also." More tears slide down his face as I try to figure out how to fix what I've just broken, but I can't think of a single thing to say. He picks up his mug and pushes his chair back, stands, and walks to the sink to set it down. I watch him as he places his hands on the counter and hangs his head, utterly defeated now. He was trying so hard to make this easier on both of us; he was trying to tell me how he felt, and I shot him down before he even got a chance to start. Goddammit to hell. "You know," he starts again, and I push my chair back as I listen to him, ready to get up and take him in my arms at a second's notice; his voice is choking with emotion, and I've never seen him like this. I don't want to see him like this again, that's for damn sure, "I've lost everything, Walter. Ev-er-y-thing," he says slowly, enunciating each syllable, "I've lost my sister, my father, I've lost the X-Files, I've lost Scully, and now it seems that I've lost you and your respect. In fact," he continues, turning to look at me, tears flowing freely, arms folded defensively across his chest, "I don't know if I ever had your respect, but I'd like to think that I did. Technically, I have nothing left to live for. Do you know how that feels, Walter?"

Oh my God do I ever. After 'Nam and Sharon, and now Scully; I want to tell him the whole story, but I can't. I'm glued to my seat, unable to move, unable to do anything but watch the man I'm pretty sure that I love sob in front of me because of me. The knife that I thought I felt in my heart upstairs was nothing compared to what is going on at this moment. It's twisting in my heart, my guts, my whole insides feel like they're going to shrivel up and die. Oh Fox. My poor Fox, I'm so sorry, please forgive me, please pleasepleaseplease. I stand up so quickly that I knock my chair over in my haste; I have Mulder in my arms before the metal makes contact with the tiled kitchen floor, silently begging him to forgive me. Words have left me now; ironic that the only thing I have said so far is 'fuck you', and I didn't even do that properly. Not verbally this morning, and not how I wanted to do it, last night. Stop the fucking world, I want to get off.

He tries to shove me away, but I'm stronger than he is. I hold him to me with the force of a man drowning, holding onto him for dear life. If he leaves me now, I am going to drown. I am suddenly as sure of that as I am of my next breath. I have to do some major damage control, and it has to start NOW. Right this fucking minute. I find my voice; it's not much louder than a whisper, but it's there, and I know he hears me because his arms come around my body as I speak quietly into his ear. "I am so sorry, Mulder. So fucking sorry. Please, please forgive me. I'm so lost; I feel so guilty, so useless. I need you, please don't leave me. We need each other, now more than ever." Whoa. Sharon would be so proud of me. I haven't had an outburst of affection like that since our honeymoon, over seventeen years ago. "You're not alone, Fox," he flinches at my use of his first name but he stays with me, "I do respect you. I respect the HELL out of you. I feel so responsible for Scully's death, and I'm so afraid that you'll hate me for it, because you might have been able to stop it; you've been with her on hundreds of occasions and you always kept her safe. I lost her, Mulder. It's my fault, and you should hate me for it," I'm crying now too, and if we aren't a sight; standing in my kitchen, our arms wrapped around one another, both of us clinging to the shreds of life that we have left while we cry our hearts out to each other.

We stay like that for a long time, wrapped in each other's embrace. Our crying winds down into hitched breathing, and from that into exhausted deep breaths. He pulls back a little from me first, and looks up at me; I get lost in his hazel depths, removing my right arm from around him so I can wipe the remnants of tears away from his eyes one at a time. He smiles a little at me, and for the first time, I feel my heart begin to flutter just from looking at him. He reaches up and does the same for me, and I lower my lips to his, pressing against him with everything I feel at this moment. I want to pour my heart into him, and I'm doing the best I can with the tools at my disposal, namely my lips, tongue, hands, and body. I run my hands through and through his hair, pulling him closer to me as I claim him with my tongue. He grants me entrance to his mouth and immediately returns the favor, running his tongue into my mouth as far as he can reach. We clutch at each other desperately, my hands running down his slim body, reaching around him to cup his buttocks and grind myself against him. He responds to me in kind, kneading me gently as I try to get us closer and closer together. If you can be one without being physically joined, then we are that right now. Everything I am is Fox Mulder. Everything I am and everything I want to be and everywhere I want to go from now on is in my arms, and I'm not going to let him go. Ever.

He releases my buttocks and his arms close around my neck so that we're in a very intimate hug, our tongues vying for victory, both of us panting with need. Right here, in my kitchen. I attempt to pull back from him a little, both to catch my breath and to suggest that we take this upstairs, but Mulder is quite insistent that we stay right where we are; he drops to his knees in front of me and I close my eyes and tilt my head back as he undoes the drawstring of my sweats and pulls them down to my ankles. He allows me a bit of space to step out of them, which I do, and then he gently takes my balls in his left hand while he reaches around me with his right and pulls me forwards, my cock sliding easily and fully into his eagerly waiting mouth. "Fffffuck," is all I can manage to moan as his tongue winds around and around my erection, using his lips to follow the trail his tongue is blazing. I want to lie down, to take him into my arms, but he won't have any of that. He is bound and determined to make me come first, and it hardly takes any time at all. I try to tell him that I'm coming, that he should let me go, but he refuses to release me, sucking on me harder the more I try to pull away. The sweet suction of his mouth is too much for me to bear, and I cry out his name as I thrust once and shoot down his throat. He swallows all of me, not pausing until I am finished, and even then he doesn't stop until he's licked me clean of every last drop.

I finally look down at him, my breath fast and hard, and he's got that smile in his eyes again. It hasn't reached his face, but he looks pleased with himself, and I am shivering where I stand; both with need for him, and a certain amount of shock at what has just transpired. I can't believe that this is happening. Just yesterday, things seemed so bleak, so final. And now, here, Fox Mulder is kneeling before me, looking up at me as though I'm some sort of deity or something. My only response now is to drop to my knees as well; it looks like we're going to christen every room in my condo before we actually make it to the bed. I could care less, actually. I pull him to me and kiss him harshly, tasting myself on his lips and his tongue. It's an odd feeling; I've never tasted myself before, but mixed with the flavor of Mulder, it's a delicacy, one I hope to taste quite frequently from now on.

It hasn't escaped me that Mulder is suffering from an extreme lack of attention, either; his cock is jutting out from his body at a most uncomfortable angle, seemingly reaching towards me. I look down to take the sight of him in, and the smile finally reaches his face as I look back at him. I smile wolfishly myself, and take a loose hold of his erection while I begin kissing him in earnest once again. I begin to stroke him gently but firmly, up and down his shaft, all while I'm devouring his mouth with my tongue, lips, and teeth. He groans into my mouth, and I decide that he's waited long enough. I push him back so that he's lying on the cold tile floor, and before he can even begin to get a chill, I've sucked his cock into my mouth until his pubic hair grazes my nose. I moan slightly while he's in my mouth, and this seems to drive him crazy; he begins to pump into my mouth, and I take him, stroke for stroke, continuing to moan against his sensitized skin. The vibration on his cock, in addition to the magic that my tongue is working on him, is causing him to pant quite loudly. I can only hear something that sounds vaguely like, "Wal - uh - ohhhhh - yeah - uhhhhh," and I do hear a distinct, "God," and then a, "Fuck." I feel his balls start to pull taut in my hand, and I make my strokes harder, faster, and longer. He is completely fucking my face now, and I don't care; I just want him to feel good. I want to make him come harder than he's ever come before, and as I steal a glance at his face, he is well on his way if his expression is any indication. Euphoria would be a good description. Not to toot my own horn, but I am an accomplished cock-sucker, and I want Fox to understand that I mean business. I do believe he knows that now, if he didn't before. He reaches out to me with both of his hands, and I understand that he wants me to take his hands in mine before he shoots. I release his balls and take his hands in mine, allowing him to pull me a bit further up his body before I stop, standing my ground, mouth firmly suctioned onto his swollen cock, fingers clasped tightly around his.

"FFFFUUUUCKKKKK!!!" He literally screams, and I briefly hope that my neighbors don't think that I am killing someone here in my condo. That thought is soon replaced by several others, none of them having a goddamn thing to do with anyone or anything other than Mulder and his body. "Walter," he gasps, "That was fucking incredible. Pun intended," he assures me as I smile up at him. He looks beautiful in post-coital bliss; beads of sweat across his forehead and cheeks, his hair dampened, and his chest glistening. Now HE looks like the deity, and I'm amazed as I gaze up at him. "Come here, you," he tells me as I crawl up his body and we take each other in our arms again. Jesus, the floor is cold!

"Mulder, do you mind if we move this up to the bedroom? This floor is fucking freezing," I grumble at him, and he laughs a little at that, nodding his agreement. I get up and take his outstretched hand to pull him to his feet. We kiss once again before heading back upstairs. I guess breakfast is going to be brunch after all; we're both spent, and ready for a nap.

"Walt, do you mind if we take a rinse first?" Mulder asks me, and I chuckle at that because we were both so thorough in our ministrations, but I ultimately give in and run a hot shower.

"You can go first, Mulder. There's towels in the closet over there, washcloths, whatever you need," I tell him, and he just stands there with his hands on his hips, shaking his head.

"What?" I ask him innocently, and he crooks a finger at me and motions for me to come to him.

"No, what I need is for you to wash my back. I'll return the favor, honest." He gives me the equivalent of the Scout's Honor, which I quickly remind him he is not capable of doing correctly, seeing as how he never was an Eagle Scout. He just chuckles and takes my hand and leads me into the shower. We do a nice job of soaping each other up and rinsing each other off, spending what might be considered an unusually large amount of time making sure our cracks and crevices are all squeaky clean. Fifteen minutes later we're clean, dry, and snuggling into bed together. I spoon myself around Mulder, and he presses his back against my chest as far as he can, digging his buttocks into my groin. That earns him a slight growl, and he shakes a little with an internal giggle that I feel more than hear. I don't drop off until I feel him breathing slowly and evenly against me; I just have this need to make sure he is alright before I allow myself to sleep. If this morning's activity is any indication, maybe Mulder will be alright after all. Maybe we both will. I drift into sleep with Mulder in my arms, and a smile on my face and a lightness in my heart that hasn't resided in either place for years.

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Sometime later, I'm awakened by a blood-curdling scream. I reach instinctively for my gun in the nightstand drawer, looking around the room frantically for an intruder. I see nothing upon my brief inspection, and Mulder is thrashing around next to me in the bed; he is completely tangled in the bedsheets, and sweating heavier than he was earlier this morning. His face is screwed up tight, and tears are running down the sides of his face. "SCULLLLLYYYYYYYY," he screams again, and instantly I gather him up in my arms and hold him close. "NOOOO," he shouts, fighting me with every ounce of his strength; I narrowly miss being punched in the cheek by his flailing fist.

"Mulder," I say loudly and authoritatively, hoping that will snap him out of his nightmare, "Wake up, Mulder, I'm here. Come on, Mulder," I soothe, but he continues to fight some unseen nemsis, deaf to my words of comfort.

"YOU KILLED HER! YOU KILLED SCULLY," Mulder screams, and my blood runs cold at his words. Is he having a nightmare about me? Oh God, no. I know it's too soon to hope for normalcy, but I thought we were making the tiniest bit of progress. My heart sinks as I try to keep Mulder from hurting himself (or me) in his restlessness. "SCULLLLYYYYYYYYYY," he screams again, and this time I have no choice but to slap him across the face; I'm a little concerned because he simply won't wake up. His eyes open immediately after I strike him, and the tears continue to run down his cheeks. In a hoarse and choked voice he looks at me and says, "I have to go now." He pushes me away, oblivious to my hurt expression, and gets out of the bed.

"Mulder," I say, swallowing down the giant, suffocating lump that is forming in my throat, "What happened? What did you dream? Mulder, please," I can't believe how my voice is betraying my cool exterior right now. That came out as some sort of whine, for God's sake.

"No, I have to go. I have to go now. Right now. Scully needs me." My breath catches in my chest at that statement, and I do believe I am losing the battle with my decorum. He must still be asleep. Perhaps he's sleepwalking?

"Mulder come on, come back to bed." He shakes his head vigorously as he sits down on the bed to pull on the sweatpants I gave him earlier. He ties them and bends to retrieve the tee shirt as well.

"NO," he shouts at me, and I can't believe how deep that voice cuts into my very soul. His voice is full of anger, as is his face, and it's all directed at me. How? After this morning, and last night, how can he do this now? Maybe it's some kind of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder thing. Shit, that's what Scully would think. Christ.

"Mulder, Scully's gone. She's gone, Mulder." All authority has left my voice now; I sound like the defeated man that came back to DC from Maryland last week, all over again.

"NO," he yells at me, "She's NOT gone. I WON'T believe it. I have to go and see if she's alright." He is frantically searching the room for something, and I can't help but ask him, "What are you looking for?"

"My cellphone. I have to call her and see if she's alright." Oh good God. This dream has completely fucked with his mind. I have no idea what to do now; he is the psychologist, after all.

"Mulder, please," I attempt weakly, but he stops me in mid-plea.

"Shut up, Skinner, just SHUT UP. I have to see - if - she's - " he stops in the middle of the room, a lost look on his face. No more words are forthcoming, and I take this as a good time to get out of bed and move slowly towards him. Perhaps he's still caught up in his terror and I can bring him out of it.

"Don't come near me," he hisses, and I stop where I am, no more than 3 feet away from him. He has the coldest look in his eyes, and it chills me to meet his gaze. He is looking at me with pure unbridled hatred; I feel like my heart has fallen to my toes. Not an hour ago, everything was going fine. What the hell happened?

"You son of a bitch," Mulder growls at me, "How dare you try to keep me here when Scully needs me. Did you drug me?" I'm at a loss now, and I just close my eyes and shake my head.

"You're working for THEM, aren't you? I should've known better. Scully never did trust you, Skinner. I wanted to trust you. I tried to make Scully trust you, and you got her killed, didn't you? You're a fucking coward, that's what you are. A washed-up ex-marine with no life outside of work, playing Dana and me like pawns in your fucking Consortium game. You're a whore in a suit and tie, aren't you, SIR?" He laughs out loud, and I'm trying to push the anger down, but it's coming up like the bile in my throat. He can't know what he's saying. "You're THEIR whore, Skinner, and it's all gone to shit, hasn't it? Don't you ever get tired of being FUCKED, Skinner? I mean, SIR?"

That's it. The last straw. Emotions win over rationalization, and bad dream or not, I can't have him yelling this bullshit in my face. It's not true; everything I've ever done with the Consortium has been for the good of Mulder and Scully. I don't expect him to understand that in his current state, but in my current state, the only thing that makes sense is to whack him good one more time in hopes that it knocks some sense into him. God forgive me for what I'm about to do - I pull my right fist back and throw, connecting squarely with his jaw.

He falls directly down on his ass and grabs the left side of his face, looking up at me in a daze. I'm shaking very badly, and my knuckles hurt. I can't believe I just hit him, and I can't believe that he was saying those things to me. I don't know what hurts worse. Yes, I do; his accusations cut me to the bone more than any punch or jab or stab ever could. But what hurts him worse? I'm about to find out, and it's not pretty.

I reach down to him, offering him a hand to help him up. He shrinks away from me, refusing to meet my eyes. "Mulder, take my hand. I want to help you through this."

"Fuck you. You hit me," he cries, still clutching his jaw, and I have no choice but to believe that he did not know what he was saying before I did it. Wonderful. This is just getting better and better as it unfolds.

"Fox, please," I say, exasperated, and his response is to get up and inch towards the door, not taking his eyes off of me as he does so.

"I'm going home now. Don't you dare touch me. Do you hear me, Skinner?" Tears again, and I feel like I'm going to throw up. I put my hands up in surrender, trying to convince him that I mean him no harm; I never have.

He watches me as he backs out of my room, and I stay frozen in the spot where I've been standing since he told me not to come near him. He turns and runs down the stairs, and I close my eyes as I hear him slam the front door behind him when he leaves.

I sink to the floor of my bedroom, my back against my bed. I pull my knees up to my chest, cross my arms and rest them on top of my knees, and I bury my face in my arms as I begin to cry. I sob until my chest hurts from the sheer force of it, and I wonder to myself if I've lost Mulder forever, too.

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End of Part II  


 

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Author: Jvantheterrible  
Title: A Taste of Life III - Nightmares and Dreams  
Date: February 6th-10th, 2000  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Series: A Taste of Life #3  
Rating: Hello.......NC-17 all the way.  
Summary: Scully has been killed in the line of duty, and Skinner and Mulder are left to try and piece themselves back together.  
Disclaimer: The characters of the X-Files are the sole property of Chris Carter, 1013/InFront Productions, and Fox TV. No copyright infringement is intended, and no monies are changing hands due to the creation OR posting of this story.  
Feedback: Yes please, to   OR . I don’t like flames; besides..... if you don’t like it, why are you on part 3 already? Hmmmm????? :P Check out amokeh's and my website at: http://www.angelfire.com/oh3/SkinnerSanctum 

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“Mulder I’m sorry....don’t go....please,” I murmur, and I feel a hand stroking my scalp. That can’t be right, because Fox left just a moment ago. He ran out of here and told me to leave him alone, and I’m sitting on my floor crying....but there’s.....wait a minute; then I hear it.

“Sssshhhh, Walter, it’s alright, you just had a bad dream. I’m here, it’s okay,” the voice soothes. What the hell is going on? My eyes open and I look up into Fox Mulder’s concerned face, his hazel eyes watching me intently. I’m not sitting on my floor; I’m in my bed, and Mulder is here.

“Mulder,” I whisper, and I reach up for his hand. He removes his hand from my head and laces his fingers into mine.

“Yeah it’s me, I’m here. Are you alright, Walter? Jesus you scared me. You were crying and I was getting worried; I couldn’t wake you up.” I blink a few times, completely disoriented but happier than anything to see Mulder hovering over me. He didn’t leave. More importantly, I didn’t hurt him. No, more importantly he’s still here. I can’t even smile at him, I just look up at him and try to get lost in his eyes. I want to forget that damned dream, and I feel further away from it already just watching Mulder.

“I’m glad that......Mulder, I mean, I’m happy that you’re....” I am so embarassed about my feelings that I can’t even finish my sentence. I see that smile return to his eyes, and I know he understands what I’m trying to say. I just wish I had the balls to say it. He deserves that much, at least.

“I know, Walter. It’s alright. I wouldn’t leave you like that.” He smiles down at me and comes in closer for a kiss, which I gratefully accept and return, despite my shock at waking up to his presence. I was so certain he had left. More frightening still is my reaction to his supposed absence. I have no claim on Fox Mulder; he can leave anytime he wants. I just hope he doesn’t.

I wrap my arms around him and pull him down to me so that his head is resting just beneath mine, his thin but sturdy frame covering mine completely. It feels so good, this contact with him. It makes me feel alive, makes me feel that I am still capable of........feeling. In fact, there’s something of mine grazing his stomach right this minute, and it feels pretty damn well alive, too.

“Walter,” he says, his voice muffled against my chest, his arms wrapping around my waist as best as he can reach, “are you always this way after you’ve had a bad dream?” He laughs against my bare chest, his tongue sneaking out to steal a lick at my nipple. I shudder at his action, and thrust my hips up against his.

“Not to the best of my knowledge, Mulder,” I reply, smiling. I’m smiling. Fox Mulder is in my arms, thrusting his growing erection against mine, and I’m smiling. Jesus Christ, this is so weird. But I love it. Oh my God. I love him. There it is. And I thought I was scared at my dream. Since when is reality more frightening than nightmares? Since ‘Spooky’ Mulder insinuated himself into my life, that’s when. In the last forty-eight hours, we’ve gone from not speaking at all to becoming lovers. Whoa. Talk about spooky. And that’s really not being fair to him; he’s not spooky. Not at all, as far as I’m concerned....and certain parts of my anatomy might agree.

“Uuuunnnnnhhhh, that feels good,” he moans, and I thrust up against him again, my flesh begging to be released from my sweats and allowed to make contact with his. I hold him close, so close that I can feel his heartbeat against my chest; it’s delicious. It’s life-affirming. I like it. I could learn to love it. There’s that word again - the ‘L’ word.

He reaches down for the string to undo my sweats, and I move slightly to allow him better access. Within seconds he has them down around my ankles, and we’re thrusting our cocks together desperately. I can feel his flesh like molten steel against my own, and I am already tamping down my urge to come.

I pull him close to me again so I can partake of his mouth; that pouty bottom lip of his is just begging to be bitten, and I inadvertently draw blood in my haste. I lick him where the tiny wound has opened, and he moans into my mouth as I suck the life out of him, drawing him into me further and further; I want to swallow him whole. He appears to understand as he allows me to suck his lower lip into my mouth and nurse and lick at it.

“So good,” I murmur to him, “You taste so fucking good, Fox, oh my God,” and I’m rendered speechless as our arms pull tighter against one another, our bodies slapping together convulsively.

“Unnnhhh, Walter, yessss,” is all he can manage back, and we continue the war of our limbs until finally we’re as close as we can be without actually being joined. I look up into his eyes, and he looks at me, and it’s completely feral, wild. Something has to give here, because we are both walking on the edge of ecstasy. For me, it’s been over twenty years. Not since I was in ‘Nam have I let a man get this close to me. Somehow, the loss of Scully feels like a war; a war that both Mulder and I were waging - and lost. In a way, though, we won, because we have each other now. Right now, right this minute. So I give in.

“Mulder,” I gasp, “please. I want to feel you in me. NOW,” I add for emphasis, and I roll over and reach into the nightstand drawer. I’m hoping it’s still there...it’s been ages since I’ve used it.....voila. My lube; used for Sharon on the nights when she couldn’t quite keep up with me, and since her death, on the nights when I needed an extra......hand.

“Walter, are you sure? I’m just not....I mean, I don’t -” I cut him off in mid-sentence by reaching out for him and pulling him back to me, kissing him passionately. Our tongues flick over and over one another, and we begin our grinding actions once again.

“Oh god, Walter, give me a minute,” he gasps, and I chuckle deep in my throat as he twists the top off the tube and squeezes the gel out onto his hand. He spreads a liberal amount over his index and middle fingers and just looks at me. I know what I have to do, and I’m all too ready to comply. My legs go easily over his shoulders, and he slides his fingers into my ass, gently at first, and then more firmly as he pops through the initial tight ring of muscle.

“Fffuck,” I moan, thrusting against his fingers at the same time that my body is asking me what the hell I am doing, muscles trying to tense up even as I struggle to relax for him. I want to be open to him, completely and totally, and within moments, I have achieved my goal. He is slowly pumping two fingers in and out of me, and I am moaning his name softly, begging him for more. He slides a third finger in, and I know I am not going to be any more ready than I am at this moment. I want him. I need him. In me. Now.

“Nnnow, Fox, please,” I beg him, and I force my eyes to open and look at him, drinking in the sight of him as he prepares me for himself. He looks so beauti ful, his muscles all taut and covered in a fine sheen of sweat, worried only about my comfort.

“Yesss,” he gasps, and he uses his left hand to squirt more lube out and coat himself thoroughly while he keeps his right hand’s fingers buried deep inside of me. I watch him as he coats his cock, hurrying to get inside of me before we both explode. He’s ready within seconds, and we gaze into each others’ eyes for a long moment before he places the head of his cock against my entrance. I nod at him, signalling him that I’m ready, and he nods back as he pushes gently forward and into me. I suck my breath in - exhilaration is the only word that comes to mind. He slides fully into me and I close my eyes as I feel him bury himself in me to his balls.

“Oh my God,” he moans, “oh Christ Walter, so good,” he groans as he withdraws slightly and then proceeds to slide fully back into me. I can only agree with him, nodding my head and whispering,”Yes,” back to him as he moves inside of me. I can feel every beat of his heart inside of me, and I want to sob with the intensity of it. I can only moan his name over and over as he slides slowly in and out of me, my muscles clutching at him with his every movement.

My legs are over his shoulders and his chest is pressing against mine, we are so close at this moment. I open my eyes again and he’s above me, glistening, beautiful, his expression radiating pure pleasure, and I realize that I’m the reason he looks this way. And he’s the reason I’m feeling this way. I can’t conceal my tears of joy as he thrusts into me harder now, past the point of controlled movement. Our bodies are on autopilot, and there’s no turning back. Our thrusts continue in tandem, and I pull him closer so I can kiss him. He returns my sentiment, and our lips crush together as our bodies thrum with heat and unbridled excitement.

“Oh, God, Walter, I can’t....I can’t stop....please, come......” he moans into my mouth, and I feel him thrust into me fully one more time, brushing my prostate, and then several tiny spasms as he spills into me. Almost as he tells me to come, I’m there, and he’s managed to somehow grab my cock in his hand, his fist giving me the sweet friction I need to shoot all over both of us. I spurt up and over his hand, catching both of our chests as he fills me from below. It’s perfectly synchronized, almost as though it’s been practiced for ages, and we both attempt to catch our breath as our bodies continue to spasm lightly against one another.

I am lost in him. I want nothing more and nothing less than this feeling, all the time, from now on. Forever, if possible. Fox Mulder. Gifted, beautiful, intelligent, top special agent.....he is a great partner....he always was to Scully...but she’s...and now he’s....Kersh’s agent....oh fucking-A. What a way to come back down to earth. He senses the change in my demeanor almost instantly. Is it the fact that I can’t face him any longer because I just had a slight mental meltdown?

“Walter,” he gasps, still slightly out of breath, “What’s wrong,” he’s looking over at me now, since I’ve turned him over onto his back and sprawled out on my stomach next to him so we can both catch some oxygen, “Are you alright?” I suppose pulling the pillows over my head to escape his scrutiny would be an exercise in futility at this point.

I turn my head away from his, facing the wall as if that will help me to come up with a logical explanation for ignoring him after the scorching session we’ve just had. “I’m fine, Mulder.” Yeah, that was just sooooo convincing. Perhaps that will ease his pyschologically trained mind. NOT.

“Walter, that’s the same thing Scully used to tell me all the time. ‘I’m fine, Mulder’ this, ‘I’m fine, Mulder’ that. Do you know,” he stops briefly, and I can almost hear the emotion building inside of him. I close my eyes as he continues his little trip down memory lane, my insides feeling like they’re going to explode out of me at any moment, ”She even told me that after that bastard Donnie Pfaster kidnapped her. She looked up at me and said, ‘I’m fine, Mulder. I’m fine.’ And then she broke down in my arms and cried like a baby. She cried and she held onto me for dear life, and I’ve never felt as needed by anyone as I did then. Until now.”

Oh my God. Here we go. Is he expecting me to break down in front of him? I feel that there’s been quite enough of that already; I can’t let myself be weak in front of him. He needs me to be strong, doesn’t he? I mean, I AM Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner of the F-B-fucking-I after all.......I am the rock, am I not? No, not now. At the moment I want to take him into my arms and cry against his soft black hair; I want to hold him until this all just goes away. But I can’t. And I won’t. And I don’t. Instead, I do the only thing I’ve ever done; I deny my feelings. I deny the truth, as he would so eloquently put it.

“Fox, I really am fine.” A weak and ineffectual comeback to his heart-wrenching confession. I still can’t bring myself to look at him. I can feel him staring at me; I can feel his hazel gaze burning into the back of my neck, silently begging me to look at him if only for a moment, to validate what he is saying - what he is pouring out to me. I don’t know if it’s my guilt over Scully’s death or my foolish pride, but I refuse to look at him. I can hear his breath catch, and I think he’s crying now - or very close to it. Despite my undying urge to comfort him and myself, I refuse to give in. I keep my back to him, and the mattress becomes lighter as he gets up from the bed.

I hear his footsteps as he walks around the room to retrieve his borrowed clothing; I hear him sniffle and try to contain his emotions as he dresses, and I yearn to jump up and go to him. I want to hold him tightly to me and tell him that everything is going to be alright. And I would, if I truly believed that were possible. But I don’t. Not anymore, and I can’t bear to lie to him that way. He deserves the truth for once. A real truth, not just some souped up version of it, doctored and conformed to his beliefs for his own benefit by people that could give a shit less about him. Goddamn the Consortium for making him nothing more than a pawn, and goddamn me for helping them, even if it is my neck at stake. I don’t suppose having my life held in their hands is an admirable excuse, but it’s the only one I’ve got. Jesus Fox, don’t go. Don’t leave me. That is what I want to shout, to yell at him as I hear him preparing to go. Please don’t go. None of those things come out. I lie in my bed and listen to the sound of the only person that I give a good goddamn about, getting ready to walk out on me, and suddenly I can’t take it anymore.

“Fox.” One word is all it takes to stop him where he stands. He has his back to me and I quickly climb out of bed and go to him, grabbing his shoulders and turning him around to look at me. I keep my hands on his shoulders in case he tries to bolt, but he’s just looking at me with tears streaming down his face, that same broken look he wore the day we buried Scully. Christ almighty. I swallow hard, hearing a clicking in my throat; that would be the lump I’m trying desperately to push back down so I can attempt something closely resembling speech. Amazing that he’s still standing here after just ‘Fox’, but here he is. Talk, Walter, talk. You do it all day at work; you’ve managed just fine for 48 years, so let’s go, big man. That’s a funny thought because right now I feel about an inch tall after how I’ve made Mulder feel. I have to fix this. Now.

“I.....Mulder, I’m sorry. I’m not....ready to talk about....this yet but....I didn’t mean to....to hurt you. I apologize,” I nearly choke it out, and I close my eyes momentarily, wondering why I am unable to discuss anything with this man without clenching my jaw so tightly it feels like my teeth will crack. When I open my eyes, Mulder is still staring at me. He’s not crying anymore, though, and his mouth is open slightly; that pouty lower lip is just begging to be kissed....Jesus CHRIST when did I turn into this insatiable monster for Fox Mulder of all people? I can just see the 302 form for that.....’Agent Mulder requests permission to investigate a large, horny beast residing in a townhome in Crystal City.’ Good God; he’s getting to me in more ways than one.

My hands are still gripping his shoulders and he reaches up and pulls them away. I’m not sure if he’s going to turn around and run or haul off and punch me or.......he wraps his arms around my waist and holds me close to him. I didn’t even know that was an option or I would’ve chosen it first. I’m surprised as hell, and I don’t even return his embrace for a moment as I try to take it all in. Finally, when I’m reasonably sure that it’s alright for me to do so, I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his hair. He smells like.....musk and.......sweat.....and sex......and Mulder. And he’s still here.

Several moments later, he pulls away from me a little, just enough so he can see my face. “Walter, I’d ask you if that’s your gun in your pocket, but you’re not wearing any clothes,” he says with a completely straight face. I feel the corners of my mouth twitch, and before I know it, I’m grinning like an idiot. It feels good to smile; it’s been many many days since I’ve had one of those on my face. Maybe Mulder can put a few more there, too. Only time will tell. For now, I’m content to hold him and smile. For now.

End Part III - Nightmares and Dreams

 

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Title: A Taste of Life IV - Intervention  
Author: Jvantheterrible  
Date: February 24th/25th, 2000  
Rating: NC-17  
Category: Sk/M  
Disclaimer: Characters not mine. Characters Chris Carter's. Story mine.   
Author's Notes: I thought about this long and hard while I lay in bed last night. Hope you like it. The bar, the Eagle, is actually located in Columbus, Ohio, and I used to go there quite often to dance, years ago......but for reasons of convenience (duh), I've put it in DC. I can do that...this is FICTION. LMAO. (The Diva lives..that's all I have to say about that. LMAO.) Jay was my best friend, and we used to go dancing there all the time.   
Check out our (amokeh's and my) website, The Skinner Sanctum, at: http://www.angelfire.com/oh3/SkinnerSanctum  
Feedback: OR . Flames? Nahhhh, no thanks.

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Mulder's been more than restless lately. He put in for some much deserved time off after Scully's death, and he's been spending quite a lot of that time at my place. I don't mind one bit; we've become quite close since all that shit went down five weeks ago. I went back to work a week after the funeral, because I have never been able to stay idle for too long. Fox, on the other hand, seems......lost......without Scully. I don't think that his quest can stand the strain of losing his partner. He hasn't mentioned word one about anything to do with an X-File since it happened. I've suggested that he go discuss things with Karen Cosseff, but he has no interest in having his brain picked by a fellow head doctor, much less one associated with the Bureau. He didn't speak to me for two days after I brought it up the last time, so I've decided not to go that route again.

All he wants to do is watch television or read a book, curled up on my couch, waiting for me to come home from work. I don't really have a problem with that, except for the fact that I'm not used to Mulder wasting his beautifully talented mind on being a couch potato. I can't say that it has affected his sex drive, though; he's fucking insatiable when I do get home from the office - pun intended. Just last night, I got home around 8:30 and there he was, dinner ready and waiting, and it got pretty damn cold waiting for us. He answered the door in nothing but a plain white apron and yanked the briefcase out of my hand before I could even think about refusing, as if I would. Two more minutes and his tongue was almost down my throat, my trenchcoat was on the floor, and he had ruined yet another of my white dress shirts by ripping it open to get to my flesh. I decided to go with the flow, and a few minutes later, my pants, briefs, socks and shoes were hopelessly tangled in the apron I pulled off of him, and we were going at it full force in the middle of the living room floor.

Jesus, I get a shiver up and down my spine just thinking about it; and these are not thoughts that belong in an Assistant Director's mind while he is at work. Which I am. Friday at last, and looking forward to another weekend with my.....boyfriend? Lover? Suboordinate? I can't stand to think of it that way, but it's true. Of course, if Fox doesn't come back to work soon, he might not be my suboordinate too much longer. He's earned quite a bit of leave time over the course of his career, but I'm not sure how much longer I can hold the DD off. The upper levels all want to know how he's progressing; despite his nickname of "Spooky", he still has the best damn solve rate in my department. Well, he DID, anyway. Shit. I suppose we'll have to talk about that this weekend. I take my wirerims off and rub the bridge of my nose, instantly stressed at the idea of having a work-related discussion with Mulder. While I'm lost in my thoughts, my cellphone rings. I snatch it out of my coat pocket and growl, "Skinner."

"Hi, it's me." Mulder; he must be fucking psychic or something. Spooky indeed, I think, and I almost smile at the implication. I don't smile, though, because I can still hear the hurt in his voice; he just sounds so.....far away, and......fragile. We are definitely going to talk this weekend. That's it, I've made up my mind at this very moment. No more wild romping around my condo together to avoid the issue; I think that's what he's been doing recently, and so far I haven't minded, but it HAS been a month.

"Hi, how's your day?" I ask him, hoping that he's at least ventured out into the world a little for a change. 

"Not bad. Um, I'm going to go out for a while tonight, okay?" Game, set, AND match, he's going out. But he wants to go out alone?

"Where do you want to go? I can leave a little early from here, if you'd like to go out to dinner or something - " he cuts me off, and I can feel the lines deepen in my forehead immediately.

"- No, Walter, I mean, I was just going to go out for a while...alone." He doesn't say anything else, and now I am concerned. He hasn't wanted to go anywhere in four weeks, and all of a sudden, on a night when we have the next two days off together, he wants to go out....alone. Jesus Christ, I am sounding like some sort of....husband here. Fuck that. 

"That's fine, Mulder. You know, you don't have to ask my permission, I mean, Jesus." But I'm secretly relieved that he did.

"Okay, great. That's great. Alright. Well, I'll see you later then." He hangs up the phone, and I can't help it; I'm instantly worried. Something is wrong. VERY wrong. And he's not talking. He's using his pouty (and talented) mouth for several things, but talking is not one of them. And goddammit, we need to talk. I check my watch as I put my phone back in my suit coat - it's 3:00 now. I wonder where he's planning on going.....

********************************

I get home around 8:00, and he's gone already. He's left me a note, though. God, this is so strange; we must be having a relationship of some sort, but what kind of relationship is it? I read the note as I head upstairs to change.

Walt: 

I've been thinking alot, what with all this time off and everything! There's a few things I need to take care of. I'm sorry we haven't talked more, but thanks for being here for me. I appreciate it.

                                                            Mulder 

Cryptic, I think as I pull off my FBI garb. I dress in black jeans, a black turtleneck, and black boots, re-reading the note as I jog back downstairs. This isn't right; Mulder's having some sort of problem. It was in his voice on the phone earlier, and it's in this note, too. I need to find him. Tonight. I check my watch again; 8:20. I wonder if he's still at his place; everything in my mind is screaming, 'Walter, don't do this, he's a big boy, he can handle it,' but my heart isn't so sure. Christ, I am a mess. Well, mess or not, I'm going to tail him, just to make sure. If anything were to happen to him.......I grab my keys and my black leather jacket and set off to find Mulder. My errant agent. My friend. My lover. I think he needs me more than he knows. More than even I know.

**************************************

The car's dash clock says 9 sharp as I pull up outside Mulder's building. I can see his car parked on the street, and pull a few spaces up and park, breathing a huge sigh of relief that I haven't missed him. I feel like a real asshole doing this, but I don't know what in the hell I'm supposed to make of everything; his tone during our conversation earlier, and then that note. Shit, I'm a trained investigator, too; I haven't ridden a desk for my whole life. I care about this man. I know I have a lot of guilt over Scully's death, and I'm dealing with that, but as far as Mulder is concerned - well, suffice it to say that I just respect the hell out of him.......and I missed my greeting when I got home from work tonight. Enough said.

Half an hour later, he comes down and gets into his car. I can see him in my rearview mirror; he looks.......good. He's wearing jeans and a white shirt, along with a black jacket similar to mine. I watch him to make sure he doesn't see me, but he's obviously off in his own little world; he looks around briefly, but doesn't catch so much as a glimpse of me. He pulls out of his space moments later, and after I allow a couple of cars between us, I pull out as well. I still feel guilty for doing this, but I would feel even worse if something were to happen to Fox. I have no idea where his head is at, but I have this feeling in my gut.....gnawing at me.....I just have to make sure he's alright. Period. 

He drives around the city for awhile, and it doesn't seem like he's going anywhere in particular; I think he's just wasting time, for some reason. Finally, around 10:30, he pulls up in front of a nightclub and parks. The club is the Eagle, and it's all too familiar to me; I've gone in there a couple of times myself - but only when I was feeling particularly lonely. Nothing like a few hungry stares to make you feel better about yourself, right? Right? But Fox? Here? After all we've been through the past several weeks? And I thought I was worried before. Shit. I let him go in and several moments pass before I get out of my car and follow him.

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Jesus H. CHRIST this place is smokier than I remember. I don't know if it's from the cigarettes or the dry ice, but it's bad. Did I mention that the Eagle is a gay bar? Well, it is. It's very dark, the only light coming from the timed laser light show hanging overhead, and there are gay male porn movies showing all over the place; every wall is a different coupling, and they're all hot, big, and hard. No penetration, though......funny, because some of the things you see in THIS place make those movies look tame. Ah, the DC nightlife. Gotta' love it. I see Mulder right away, up at the bar, and I duck behind a drag queen with a really big wig, narrowly missing being busted. The queen is looking up at me expectantly, a huge grin on her (his?) face, and I look at her and smile while I say, "Sorry, saw one of my exes," and she just looks up at me and says, "Honey, you can use me ANYtime." She laughs a laugh that is entirely too deep to belong to any woman, and I roll my eyes and proceed deeper into the club, amongst the throngs of dancing half-naked pretty boys, careful to keep an eye out for Mulder. 

Fox is at the bar slamming what appears to be tequila, and I frown as I watch him from a distance; I hope he isn't planning on driving himself home after this little escapade. Two well-tanned, muscular men with no shirts and nipple rings try to invite me into a threesome on the dance floor, and I have to get a little physical in order to pull myself away. The sole object of my interest is currently getting himself buzzed at the bar, and I have no desire to mess around with any of these other people. I watch Mulder take three more shots of tequila, and I'm dying to go to him, but I can't. It would dissolve whatever trust he has in me at this point, and I have a horrible feeling that this isn't his final destination this evening. 

Mulder is now leaning back against the bar, taking in the scene before him; literally hundreds of gorgeous men, gyrating seductively on the dance floor, and several of them have approached him. He just smiles and shakes his head, continuing to look around. I wonder selfishly if he's perhaps looking for me, come to rescue him from himself. I have managed to stay hidden from him so far, and I continue to do so. Goddammit, he looks so forlorn, I just want to take him in my arms and console him as I've been doing, but I think that is a large part of the reason why he's here tonight; perhaps he doesn't require consolation. Maybe he needs something else...some kind of.....intervention? Jesus, I sound like a social worker now. 

His gaze is fixed upwards, and I follow it cautiously, still careful to avoid being caught. There is a couple up on a catwalk laid out about 20 feet over the dance floor. One of them is obviously a dom, standing at the ready with whip in hand, and the other is on all fours, head down - the typical sub, awaiting punishment. I look back to Mulder, and his tongue flicks out suggestively along his full lower lip, anxiously awaiting the action from above. I look back up in time to see the dom begin whipping his sub, slowly at first, gathering speed in time to the techno dance beat blaring out of the speakers. The sub waggles his ass seductively as the dom deals out his "punishment", and Mulder is completely in awe of the proceedings, his mouth partly open as he watches the display.

I can't believe Mulder....likes this. I had no fucking idea. Is this what he is looking for to atone for Scully's death? Because I can't.....I never have...I never could. I've growled and yelled and shouted and screamed, even gotten physical with him from time to time - but I couldn't do that to him....not even for him. Good God, no. I can't watch anymore, not the idiots above the dance floor, and not Mulder's insistent gaze towards them. I leave the main room and head into the private room, the "make-out" room as it were. More movies showing on the walls, and more good-looking young men making out with OTHER good-looking young men. Jesus Christ, I feel old. I had no idea that this was what Mulder was coming out for tonight. I can feel the slight burn of tears in my eyes as I consider what he might want...what he might need.

I jump as I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I'm terrified that it's Fox as I turn......but it's not him. It's another young man, looking at me with deep blue eyes, looking just as lost as Fox has looked these past few weeks. He looks sort of like Mulder, but blonde, actually, and I have to catch my breath for a moment before I manage, "I'm not...I mean, hello, I'm not interested...I mean, I'm not available. I mean...SHIT," I curse, and the younger man just looks up at me with a knowing smile on his face. 

"It's alright, I'm not trying to put the moves on you. I just thought you looked like you needed to talk. My name is Jay," he says, and holds his hand outstretched to me. 

"Walter," I manage back, and try to smile at him as I shake his hand. I'm shaking, and I want to forget all about Fox and his needs and wants and go home; but I can't. And I don't. Looks like good old 'Jay' here is in for a chat. Poor bastard. 

"So, what's going on, Walter? What brings you to the Eagle on this Friday night, hmmm?"

"Well," I begin, not so sure that I'm ready to disclose that much information to a total stranger, "my......lover....is here, and he doesn't know that I'm following him tonight. I'm worried about him because his partner was killed in the line of duty six weeks ago and...I need a drink, Jay," Jesus Christ, am I blushing? Shit, I am.

"His partner? Is he a policeman," Jay asks gently, his blue eyes piercing into mine.

"No, FBI," I tell him quietly, and Jay simply nods his head at my admission. "She was killed in the line of duty. While I was supervising." Jay's eyes open a little wider, and he walks away from me briefly to go the bar. I mouth the word 'scotch' at him, and he nods and smiles; it appears that he knows everyone here, and they serve him within seconds. He walks back to me and hands me my drink, which I down in less than a minute. He asks me if I want another, and I shake my head, enjoying the customary burn down my throat as I finish it; it's straight - no water, just how I drink at home when I'm particularly stressed, as I am tonight. 

"Walter, you appear to be quite a catch; I have a lot of friends who have been eyeing you all evening. Are you sure you want this....friend of yours? Because I'm certain I could fix you up with - " I cut him off before he can even finish his thought.

"Yes, I'm sure. He's...he means.....a lot to me," I finish, embarassed, but I've said it. Jesus Christ, I want Fox Mulder. In more ways than one. I want another drink, but I shouldn't......Jay goes and gets me one more while my internal angel and devil duke it out. Figures, devil wins. He usually does....especially that Smoking one. 

"For good measure," he insists as he hands it to me, and I down it as I did the first one. It feels good, I have to admit. I feel more relaxed now than I have all day, especially since I got Fox's call. 

"Jay, I appreciate what you're trying to do here, but I really have to....I mean, I have to make sure he's........alright," I finish lamely, and Jay just winks at me. 

"Walter, I understand. Good luck," Jay smiles at me, and disappears as quickly as he appeared. I just shake my head and walk to the bar to set my glass down. I can't believe it, but I actually feel a little better with that off my chest. Maybe it's not such a bad thing after all, catching an objective ear once in a while. Or an eye...I shake that thought off and head back to the main room to see what Mulder's up to.

Mulder isn't leaning against the bar anymore. When I finally do catch a glimpse of him, he's dancing. Ironically enough, he's dancing with the two nipple-ringed men I wrestled away from earlier. I watch him for a long time, taking in his sultry movements, intertwined with those of the interlopers, as I now call them; the men intending to take my lover away from me. He grinds his ass against one crotch, while he takes the right nipple ring of another into his mouth and fondles it with his teeth and tongue.

I had no idea that this was what he wanted. I swear, I can feel my heart twisting in my chest as I leave the bar, the alcohol that I've consumed seemingly non-existent. I go back out to my car and wait for him to leave the bar; I can't stand to watch him putting on his little show. He's been self-destructing for several weeks and I'm afraid that tonight is the last straw. We really need to talk. Soon. Before it's too late.

******************************

It's goddamn 2 in the morning when he finally stumbles out of the Eagle. When I say stumble, I mean it in the strongest sense of the word. The two boy toys are close behind him, but he doesn't seem to be paying any attention to them, despite their insistent grabbing and groping. I find my jaw clenching just from playing voyeur, and I want to get out and run over to Fox, drag him home with me, and force him to talk about what seems to be eating him alive from the inside out. I know what part of the problem is, but from his actions tonight, I think I'm missing a bigger piece of the puzzle. 

Fox manages to flag a cab down, nearly falling over the curb in the process; the boy toys catch him before he can nose dive into the pavement, and I see him smile and blow them each a kiss as they help him into the big yellow car. They wave goodbye as the cab pulls out, and I follow minutes later, shooting a dirty look at the two men now making out on the sidewalk in front of the club. I'm sure they didn't see me, but I feel a little bit better, anyway. I'm just glad that Fox had the sense to not drive. It would appear that that is the only sense he's making tonight.

They're not heading for Crystal City, and I'm wondering just where in the hell Mulder is off to in a cab at 2 a.m. About twenty minutes later, I find out, and it's an all too familiar location; the last place I'd expect Fox to come to after a night of being so.....decadent. The cab stops in front of the cemetery gates where Scully is buried, and I turn off my headlights and park two streets back. I can just barely see Mulder as he more or less falls out of the car, pays the driver, and watches him drive off. He stands there staring at the cab as it disappears from sight, and then he begins to clumsily scale the black iron gates.

Jesus Christ, he's going to kill himself, I think, and I get out of my car as quickly and quietly as I can, hoping that he's too caught up in his current task to see or hear me. I'm right; there is no way he has the attention span of a star agent this evening. It's all he can do to not impale himself on the spikes lining the top of the gate; I hold my breath for a full minute as I watch him make it over the top, and then he drops to the ground with a very loud grunt. Good going, Mulder. He produces his mini maglite from his jacket pocket, which I'm glad for, because it's really dark tonight, and it makes it easier for me to track him. It doesn't take me more than 30 seconds to scale the gate myself, and I drop expertly to the ground, just as I learned at Quantico all those years ago. Yep, the old man still has it, I think, and then I'm off after the small light beam that is sweeping across the headstones. 

It's a short walk to Scully's grave, and I have to make sure I give Mulder a wide berth; I have a feeling I'm going to have to make my presence known shortly, but I don't want to do it until I have to. He'll most likely be very upset with me when he finds out that I've been tailing him all night, and the longer I can put that off, the better. 

Mulder drops to his knees in front of Scully's headstone, places his forehead against the marble, and begins to cry. It's a horrible, mournful sound, one that I haven't heard from him ever before; not even on the night I told him that Dana was gone. It's heart-wrenching, and almost...desperate in its intensity. I can feel a lump growing in my throat, and just as I'm prepared to go to him, he begins to talk as he sobs. I stay firmly planted where I stand, just watching and listening. 

"SSSSScullyyyy," he cries, and he pulls his face back from the marble and reaches out to caress it with both hands flat on its hard and unforgiving surface, "I nuh-nuh-ever got to sssay goodbye," he sobs, and I close my eyes, hearing him as he tells her what he's been holding inside for so long. "I wuh-wuh-wanted to be with you if this ever happened, Scullyyyy, it wasn't supposed to b-b-be youuuu, it was always suh-suh-pposed to be me," he wails, and I shake my head in the dark, unseen, as he continues, "I've been.....Wuh-Wuh-Walter and I.......Scully, I missed you so much, and I wuh-wuh-wasssso alone.....I love him, tooooo," Mulder cries, his words fading out with the last syllable, "God help me, Scully, it's all guh-guh-gone to shit," he says, and then hiccups as he tries to catch his breath. 

It's gotten very quiet, just the occasional sound of Mulder's breath hitching, and I can actually hear him unzip his jacket pocket. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, my muscles are tightening from stress.....and then there's a clicking sound. Much like that of a safety being released on a weapon. I see Mulder drop his flashlight on the ground, and my adrenalin kicks in as he's lifting the barrel to his temple. 

"MULDER, NO," I shout, and I'm standing next to him a split second later. He's in shock that I'm here, I can see that much on his face, and then he just collapses into my arms. His gun drops to the ground and I hold him tightly against me, kissing his hair, just whispering, "No no no no, Mulder, God, NO," over and over again. He sobs that sound of desperation for a long time and I just hold him, probably crushing the hell out of him. I don't care; I can't believe this was what he had in mind. I very nearly lost him, too. If I hadn't.....I'm not even going to go there. I can't bear to think about it. Not Mulder too. Jesus Christ. I pull him away from me once he's wound down a bit, and I grip his shoulders firmly, because I really don't think he can stand on his own right now. 

"Fox," I say gently, and his hazel eyes are completely swollen, bloodshot all to hell. Tears leak out and run down his face as I talk to him, more calmly than I've ever spoken to him before. "I was going to apologize for following you tonight. Under the circumstances, however - " he cuts me off there.

"You followed me?" His eyes are open wide now, and he's sniffling unabashedly, "All evening?"

"Yes, Mulder, all evening. As much as I could stand to watch, anyway."

"Jesus, Walter. Even to....the Eagle?" He says with a certain measure of embarassment, and his gaze drops to his shoes. 

"Yes, Mulder, even to the Eagle. I was worried about you. Hey," I tell him, and I put two fingers under his chin and tilt his head back up so he's making eye contact with me, "It's alright, Mulder. I've been there before, too. I understand.....wanting to be seen....wanting to feel.....wanted."

"I'm so ashamed," he says, and he starts crying in earnest again, "I'm just so confused....you...and me.....and Scully's dead......FUCK," he shouts, and I pull him to me again. I feel his arms close around my back, and I just murmur to him that it's going to be alright, that he has nothing to feel ashamed of, nothing to be embarassed about. 

"Ssssh, Fox, it's okay. I know it's confusing. I don't even really understand it yet myself. But I do know one thing." I hesitate there, because I'm just not sure if I can tell him how I feel. I don't know if my feelings are welcome, or if they'd just confuse him more. Screw it. Here goes nothing......or more hopefully, SOMEthing.

"Mulder, I.....I....care about you immensely. I enjoy your company. I missed seeing you when I got home from work tonight. And I am sure as hell glad that I came after you.....because....I don't think I could handle losing you." Oh shit. There. It's out. I'M out. Whoa. 

He looks up at me, sniffles once, and says in a strangled little voice, "Really, Walter?" For the first time in weeks, he looks.....hopeful.

"Really," I tell him softly. His mouth twitches a little, and he leans forward and closes his eyes. I can't resist that pouty lower lip of his, and I give him a kiss that takes all the oxygen out of both of us. He shivers a little with the contact, and I pull him closer to me and wrap my arms around him again. "Mulder, can we go home now?"

"Home?" He asks, uncertainly, and I know what he means. I'm all too happy to oblige with an answer. He pulls away from me and studies my face.

"Yes, Mulder. Home. I'm warning you, though, we have one HELL of a lot to talk about this weekend. No more beating around the bush." I search his face for some response, and his eyes actually look a little clearer to me. 

"Alright. Sir," he finishes, and I roll my eyes at him. 

"And Mulder? If you won't talk to Karen Cosseff, I want you to see someone. I mean it. I've put you in a psych ward before, and I'll do it again. I will take care of your ass one way or another, do you hear me?"

He bends down and picks up his flashlight and his weapon, handing the latter over to me. "For safekeeping," he says seriously, and I nod and slip it into my coat pocket. "Walter?" He asks.

"Yes Mulder," I reply as we head back for the second climbing excursion of the night.

"There are a couple of things you could do to my ass, you know," he says, with a completely straight face.

"Mulder, we are going to talk. After we talk, we'll talk some more. And then, maybe we can take of your ass."

"Mmm, among other things," he says, and I just shake my head as I give him a boost up the gate and scramble over faster than him so I can help him down the other side. 

"And Mulder? The next time you ask me permission to go out, the answer's no."

"The next time I go out, it's going to be with you," he assures me, and as an afterthought, asks, "How do you feel about nipple rings?"

"I have my gun and your gun, Mulder. Ask me that question again - I dare you." 

He doesn't ask me again, and we get to my car and buckle in. As I head for Crystal City, I feel his head rest against my shoulder, and I swallow the lump in my throat, biting my bottom lip to keep from crying. We do have a lot to talk about. And Mulder does need to see someone about dealing with his loss, and maybe opening up a little in general. All I know is that I love Fox Mulder. And I want it to stay that way for a long, long time. I hope he feels the same way; if not now, then maybe someday, when he's had some time to deal with everything. He wouldn't be here with me now if he didn't feel something, I'm sure of it. I hear him snore slightly, passed out from exhaustion - and the tequila didn't help, either. 

He gasps a little, and I hear him whisper in his sleep, "Mmm, love you, Walter," and he sighs and nuzzles against me. I smile a little as the tears roll down my cheeks, and I can't wait to get home and tuck us into bed, spooning around him, feeling his warm hard body against mine. Yeah, we'll talk. Tomorrow. But for tonight, sweet dreams. 

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End of Taste of Life IV - Intervention 

***Hey, be sure to check out the pics on our site that I've made especially for this story, as well as a few others!***


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